Taking Shock

The written word has long let me experience life vicariously. Never mind seeing that hit movie; I know who's in it and the general idea from reading the newspaper. Rather than approaching a new band's CD with an open mind, I tend to first check out a review online. Yes, I even read cookbooks that don't have pictures sometimes because the writing is, well, scrumptious in its own way.

This background may give me a slight advantage in trivia games or light conversation, but when we move beyond questions for points or first impressions, I sometimes feel like the proverbial jack-of-all-trades: master of none.

I'd read a fair amount about culture shock, both in the pre-departure materials and through my Anthropology material, and took the time to read about the very different environment that lay ahead. From these, I falsely concluded that my experience would be different; having lived in a foreign culture already and stuffed my brain with factoids was supposed to grant me immunity after the initial adjustment phase.

For a long time, it seemed I had calculated things just right. Even as the excitement of getting by with a foreign language dimmed into routine, the excellent food and time with host families kept things interesting but not overwhelming. My English-language church and Internet contact with folks back home were safeguards against feeling isolated or marooned.

Even so, when school let out for two months in February and March, a thread of the blues snaked into my mind. The dorm quieted down as people went home and I settled in to enjoy the routine and pursue a few personal goals (writing, language study), but before I knew it those dreams had gelled into lethargic inactivity. And as the doldrums set in, my Japanese suddenly seemed totally inadequate given the length of time spent in-country. I began rewriting my time here in my head: if I had only joined this club or taken this opportunity...

Looking back on that too-long season, what scares me most is how in pride I assumed truly frustrating culture shock would never happen to me and didn't even let myself affix that title to what I was experiencing. Even anthropologists get homesick sometimes, but only the honest and humble ones admit it.

Break Amid Blossoms

About five weeks ago, this nation went through something catchier and more enjoyable than hay fever: marveling at the front of cherry flowers. Yes, I mean "front" in the same sense the weather report does, because an amazing amount of tourism cash depends on exactly when those buds open up in any given locale. In an apparently rare twist, Tokyo led the nation this time.

My campus is bisected by a long road deliberately lined with these trees, which bear token fruit but are of a separate variety specifically groomed for its profuse display of pink. Still, I saw quite a few vials of 'cherry blossom jelly' for sale as locals attempted to cash in on the yearly phenomenon.

The florified surroundings are merely the tip of the proceedings, however. To really enjoy the scenery, people are supposed to go out to parks and enjoy a meal with friends underneath the falling petals. As I did so, a gentle wind came and shook several blossoms off their branches, leading one of my foreigner friends to exclaim, "This is Japan!" At that moment, I didn't want to disagree; the suggestion of life's transience (James 4:14) and the mild weather were indeed just about ideal for our picnic.

This ritual is also a mark of democratization, in that so much which several centuries ago was only enjoyed by nobles (leisure time, disposable income, flavorings such as salt) are now regarded as basic to the average affluent lifestyle. When my grandparents & I visited the National Museum, the National Treasure on display was a wood panel painted with a scene of ancient courtiers and their boxed bento lunches taking in the flower view; I could only smile.

Metropolitan Diameter

My three grandparents just got in tonight, happy to finally see some of the places I've mentioned before. They were also treated very well on their international flight, which was encouraging given the recent downer headlines about USA flights over here.

We took a bus straight through Tokyo to their hotel (2.5 hours), and I was reminded of a few things. First, it's a huge, sprawling city--easy to say but not exactly simple to realize when your address says Tokyo but two-story suburban housing surrounds you for 20 minutes in any direction. We passed by one office skyscraper after another, where many of those people crowding the trains are headed to or from at any given moment. Even at 8 PM, most of them were well lit; sadly, not every businessman will be heading home tonight.

Second: there is something beautiful about night city scenery. This may be obvious to some of you already, but this self-fashioned country boy has never seen much to enjoy about being surrounded by concrete--if I don't find any green somewhere, I'll probably write that place off pretty quick. Well, it's time to get off that snobbish horse and admit that modern group living can be attractive at times. The light dappling across ocean water under the massive bridges we rode was particularly charming.

Finally my thoughts turned to heaven, the eternal place that Jesus is preparing for those who love Him. What kind of residence would that be, where our light is not the sun but the Lord? where countless people experience Him? Concepts of space will be redefined; it won't matter whether my temporary earthly dwelling was mostly city or country; and the only lasting beauty can be fully understood for the first time.

Come Again?

It's only fair that someone who grumps online about imports from English over here would make a stupid mistake himself. "Pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall." (Proverbs 16:18)

So I was eating dinner yesterday with friends at a pretty good restaurant with a picture menu--standard here if most prices are under $10 a dish--and after we'd finished we decided to split one or two desserts. I went back up to the counter with my pastor, and we investigated the sweets section. What caught our eye was the subtitle of "hot ice [cream]," apparently of the green tea flavor.

The kanji characters indicating the official title were fairly indecipherable to me, but curiosity took over and led me to order the dish. For some reason, the waiter didn't understand my simple request the first time around, but I repeated my order twice and and pointing at the menu until he took it down.

Our whole table wondered how the cooks had overcome the apparent laws of physics to produce this paradox. Finally the dish was served and I saw it swish in its bowl; guess it was just heated until it melted. I took the first trial sip and was shocked at the unexpectedly bitter taste.

It was traditional green tea, no sugar included. Suddenly everything made plain, devastating sense: "hot ice" didn't imply 'cream' but a choice of temperature. No wonder the waiter was confused! Thankfully, I had just enough sense to order two dishes and the second one didn't disappoint.

All in all, I had it easy: my only losses from the false assumption were the aura of linguistic competence and $2.10 (reflecting the dollar's recent dip).

Brink of Insanity

Every once in a while I hear about people doing something very much outside the daily grind, like my uncle Willie on his periodic bike tours around the globe (currently Columbia). When my friend Matt suggested a hike to the Mt. Fuji area, I thought it was worth a day or two's adventure. Little did I know what was in store.

The two of us and the ukulele player from the contest music group started out at lunchtime with a bowl of "student discount" ramen--good carbohydrate fuel. We walked, walked, walked with periodic breaks--check out the size of the left pack--until sundown. Fuji's peak slowly drew closer.





After going to a blessedly well-stocked supermarket for dinner, we began to implement our brilliant plan of camping out in a tent with plans of continuing the next day. However, we miscalculated about the weather. Specifically, the fact that it was bone-chillingly cold.

A real blanket instead of a space tarp and tent walls thicker than construction paper might have helped, though we were all wrapped up in several layers. What drove me nuts and prevented any real sleep all night was my one personal mistake: forgetting an extra pair of socks. Nothing like feeling your toes freeze to while the hours away, trust me.

Between shivering and the not-too-comfortable ground, which had probably frozen a few nights ago, none of us caught much shuteye. We woke when the first train rumbled into town at 5:30 AM and hurriedly packed our gear up to catch the 6:05 back home; plans for continued hiking weren't exactly feasible under sleep deprivation conditions. I was able to get rested back at home and miraculously didn't catch any major diseases, save the inability to resist turning the dorm shower to 'Hot' every morning.

At least we had a nice view of Mt. Fuji (which we were smart enough to know we couldn't climb yet anyways) by the time we called it quits. I left the shot uncropped to better illustrate the 'country' environment we hiked through that first day.

Happy to stay inside the daily grind for now, and I think my toes agree.

Snow Country

There is a famous and dry novel by Kawabata Yasunari that I read a few years ago with the same title. Perhaps someday it will become necessary for me to go through it again in the original language, but if that happens I won't be able to look at it the same way again...not after this tour to Fukushima Prefecture's Aizu-Wakamatsu region.

Once a semester, my university sponsors field trips to different parts of Japan so its exchange students can experience the surprising fact that not all of the country looks like the depressing sprawl of Tokyo, Yokohama and their suburbs. This was no American excursion, for in that case we would have been allowed to wander the streets and do a little exploring. No, "field trip" over here means that everything is planned out for you; our schedule budgeted 20 minutes for one history museum!

Not that I am bitter; there is definite comfort in turning over the reigns of your time to someone else's control and enjoying new sights. Beyond that, it was an interesting cultural experiment in how Japanese people generally take tours. But apart from the glorious relaxation of the hot baths + sauna at the hotel or the neat experience of painting on lacquerware, it's hard to look back on the two-day trip and think that I'd do it again. Especially odd for me was the everyone-must-win Bingo game we played both directions of the trip and the continual warnings to "watch our step" in the snow, even when only a few feet separated us and the destination.

The food was also interesting but not my preference. Styled after the kaiseki or formal, Kyoto-style cuisine favored in high-class settings, this well-
compartmentalized meal was pleasing to the eye but not exactly satisfying to my quantity-oriented stomach. At least they had a little dish of pickles, which I love in almost any form but the super-sour plum.

I wish my camera batteries had cooperated long enough to show you the amazing snowstorm that we enjoyed on the ride up, but at least I can show its results on the castle we visited.











Winter is still here, but not here to stay; the sun is outside my window and by the Lord's mercy will probably be there tomorrow. And though I have mixed feelings about having just penciled my return date on the calendar, I will miss the snowball fights when I'm back in California. Good thing we weren't warned against those.

By Any Other Name

I've written before about the hybrid tongue that rules this country, but didn't give any concrete examples. English is a pirate language that steals lots of terms, so it's only fair that Japanese has turned around and begun doing the same.

This sign with smart calligraphy illustrates an example I learned as a second
-year student. In America, such a plaque would be reserved for, say, an old governor's residence. It's reasonable to expect that the use of this term is equivalent, right?


Wrong. When you look a little higher up, it becomes clear that "mansion" means something very different here. Specifically, it refers to an apartment building with a single, secure entrance and slightly ritzier facilities. Perhaps that's as upscale as most families can get in this tightly packed country.

Winter Wonderland

Last week, everyone studying here got a great surprise. I woke up on Wednesday to a sight that I've never seen in my hometown and (barring a miracle and/or the complete reversal of global warming) will never see in the Bay Area: snowflakes trickling steadily down.

At first it seemed like a morning fluke. But the trickle changed to a strong downpour and pretty soon I heard sleigh bells ringing in my head (probably the result of that Carpenters album).

I don't know if anyone else is keeping score, but so far that's 2-0 in season beauty versus Cal in my book. Am slowly starting to understand why some Japanese boast that only their country has four seasons, even if they are wrong.

Chat-and-Run

When I travel, I generally like to go there in a relaxed state of mind, with leisure time and optional plans that allow me to enjoy what the area has to offer. 2 weeks ago, however, I had a very different experience of Japan's most famous merchant town.

Osaka was my destination for two reasons: a summer semester classmate's work in his college photography club's exhibit and a chance to reconnect with the man who first spoke to me about being in Japan. 31 hours didn't leave me any time to explore the slightly more historic downtown, but I very much enjoyed the brief talking time God allowed me to have. Though I am only beginning to learn how to express love to others, I think physical presence (as much as possible) is key; this trip was, in that sense, good practice.

The picture show was quite impressive and several pieces could easily have be mistaken for professional work, partially because the line between hobby and obsession is easily blurred for many Japanese--and easy university classes with at most a part-time job often compound this devotion. If buddy Jerich gets sucked into that kind of fascination, or even just continues practicing, I think he could become a top-notch talent.

The other friend, who graciously lent me his apartment's tatami room so I didn't have to worry about where I would spend the night, also introduced me to some unique twists in the regional dialect (which is probably stronger than Southern-accented English to the Tokyo ear). Ryan is a missionary working in Osaka, and if he hadn't spoken at my college's Christian club about the need in Japan for people who love Jesus I don't know where I'd be now. But he did, and as I prayed & thought about his challenge I believe God changed my heart even at the level of desire--"Maybe going there is a good idea." It was a slow process, and I had to lose confidence in the dreams I had made for myself first, but I am here now and very grateful to Ryan for his help and encouragement. I also got some blessedly spicy Korean food for free.

Thankfully, though, I knew before crossing the ocean that the best times would probably be with friends and family, as in CA. As a follower of Christ the latter also has a Spiritual meaning, though I do miss my wonderful relatives. So even though this is not an exciting post, it is more typical of how I choose to spend my time. I'll take a quick conversation with a friend over the shopping trip any time.

Front and Center

I know I wrote about a different talent show, but now I've participated in one myself--only this one was the showcase for a certain Foreign Exchange Student Performance Contest. The program even included laudatory letters from each student's home country ambassador to Japan (!), but this was as close we got to cross-cultural communication; instead, the thoroughly Japanese audience was content to appreciate the exotic.

How did I get here? A classmate from my summer semester of language instruction started jamming on this Hawaiian love song with a ukulele player going to his central Tokyo college, but they wanted a low-end pulse and gave me a call. We ran two casual rehearsals at their dorm, then auditioned and somehow were allowed to advance to the finalist stage. I liked playing with these dudes so much that participating in the Harajuku concert was icing on the cake, though several of the other 18 groups were clearly there in the hopes of winning.

Our song was 3 minutes long, so for playing it twice--morning dress rehearsal and afternoon debut--all three of us got 1) a full day's entertainment from Laotian wind instruments to a masterful piece on a guqin [oldest Chinese stringed instrument, somewhat like a zither] that was built like a koto [Japanese and derived from the guqin] to watching a few internationals live out the karaoke player's dream of a professional backing band, 2) lunch of o-nigiri [small piece of meat wrapped in rice and then a layer of seaweed] and sandwiches as well as a buffet banquet for dinner, and 3) a grab bag of prizes which I'll get to in a second. I think we were well compensated!















So yes, after our performance we were awarded the title of "Most Rhythmic," although to be fair this was one of the consolation prizes everyone but the top three received. And while I am very grateful for the generous grab bag of gifts, all three of us could only laugh when it turned out that everything had been donated...and half of those generous companies are apparently makers of women's clothing! "You want this skirt?" "Hey, check out these pants!" It was like getting Christmas presents from a Santa loaded on sake. True, they weren't Goodwill donations and our guitar player can really use the futon & electronic dictionary we got, but the prizes just made the experience all that much more wacky and ultimately memorable.

Tea For Free

It's said that growth or adventure requires being pushed out of the ordinary. This is usually true. However, the catalyst for my recent experience with Japanese hospitals came not through tragedy or a Herculean challenge but sheer stupidity. I was rushing to get ready [translation: cram] before class and thought that a kitchen knife would help me open up a grapefruit. When I opened my left thumb instead, my day's schedule came to a halt as I skipped class for the campus health center. The professional nurse there took one good look at the cut and told me to head for the local clinic.

I have no real complaints about the hospital. A fair number of the sicker patients were wearing cloth mouth masks, popular here to prevent or contain colds & allergies, and I thus felt more protected from disease than American lobbies, where some sick child is usually hacking up a storm. Though it did take them a while to call me in, the doctor was very nice and turned in a solid performance on fixing my 5-stitch-wide accident.

The one small scare was that he at first thought I might have nicked a nerve in the process, so he probed around a little first to make sure. I doubted it because I reasoned this would have caused insane pain, but was nonetheless relieved when he gave me an OK sign during the operation. It was a little weird, though, to hear him asking the nurse for a digital camera with which to offer me visual proof of my thin, white nerve's continued existence. A little gruesome to look at, but at least this pushed my appetite clock back by a comfortable 30 minutes or so and let me take care of one or two errands first.

Only one major cultural difference, and it is a huge plus in my little opinion: the automatic tea dispenser. Tea isn't just a drink here, but more like an expected social grace (or grease, without any gritty connotations) whenever a visitor drops by an institution, e.g. when I first dropped by orphanages or when I went with other exchange students on local school visits. Here's what the modest machine offers: plain water (top middle), oolong tea (bottom left), barley brew (bottom center) and green tea (bottom right). Each of these can be had hot or chilled, which is why there are two buttons per kind, but it being a rainy day I of course went for the throat-warming approach. This is another reason why the wait was no problem, as I sampled each of the varieties and confirmed a previously inexperienced preference for green.


Hope everyone is well over there and exercising proper kitchen caution. My thumb is well and offered no problems when I played bass guitar today at a music competition--but the write-up will have to come later. Sick people are allowed to get tired faster than normal, right? And no, I don't plan on attempting more shenanigans just to get a few warm cups on the house.

Spa on Steriods

Happy New Year! I spent two hours on the eve of this popular Japanese holiday enjoying a wonderful cultural experience--the public baths.

I went as the guest of one host family's father. We locked up our belongings & clothes save for a small hand towel, then entered the men's side. First came the water-only shower, to ensure that any dirt would not be carried into public pools. Then it was off into the various wonders provided for our relaxation: hot tubs indoor and out; a sauna room; cold baths to better appreciate the hot ones; and a rock slab where you could lie down on the smooth, hot-H2O-covered surface.

This was a wonderful break from long days with nothing warm outside 8-minutes showers, multiple layers and the occasional room heater. There were, however, two supremely weird and hopefully unique features.

#1: Electric massage...in a hot tub! I was pretty sure that water and electricity never mix well, but some foolhardy inventor must have reasoned that running a current through his pool's shallow end would prove invigorating. My host father emerged unscathed after a few minutes of this torturous-sounding treatment, so I had to try it as well. It felt like a strange, pulsating touch on my shoulders, but my hips translated that pressure into pain.

#2: The front wall of the sauna. The European rooms I'd been in before were all-wood and conducive to focusing all your thoughts on sweating, but this one had a built-in clock and TV set! I almost began to suspect that someone had ripped it out of a normal home and stuck it in this most incongruous of locations. There was some sort of screen to protect the gadgets from heat exposure, but no barrier to defend against the intrusion of noise and news. Call me Spartan, but I think some places here should be more private, or at least more conducive to personal interaction than information overload.

Despite these quirks, I am more than willing to sweat it out with some fellow students soon. Given that many Americans still seem hung up about changing in locker rooms, however, I doubt that this trend will hit Stateside anytime soon. I'd invest in the private sauna room business instead.