This Too:

Why I Do Things
...such as posting twice in the same hour

Apocalyptic Fuji

An entire post of semi-creative writing (see below) is likely to be unpopular with those of you back home who wonder what my life is like here. Sorry about that. I think I've explained this before: that isolated moments convey much more meaning to me than the sum of this trip as a whole. That being said, I'm going to post some more Japan-oriented creative writing now. I guess I'm feeling bold.

This is a poem I recovered about a month after I got here. I wrote this last Summer, when most of my life was spent wondering about my future life in Japan. Anyway it was interesting to read while I'm here, back in Japan. I had forgotten about it completely. Maybe you'll find it interesting but probably you wont.


Fuji-Sama in Fog
a poem

Today, of all days, I stood alone
and ate a bar of chocolate.
I drank a bottle of water
scrubbed the sweat from my forehead
on today of all days.

The air was cool, thick.
I sat rocking on a train for hours
waiting to see it. See it's sprawl.
God-King. Emperor.
Waited a lifetime to see it
to see it today.

I Stepped from the train
tipped back my hat
and looked straight up into heaven.

Mount Fuji was covered in fog.
blanketed
It was hidden from my grasping view
I could see none of it.
Not it's shape, not it's base
no matter how far I walked.
If I walked forever, my whole life, still
I could only see twelve feet through the fog.

So I sat on a bench
and bought a bottle of water
and a bar of chocolate
and ate it in silence.
Looked at the fog all day.
Thought of pictures of the mountain,
God-King. Emperor.
rubbed my eyes until my vision was blurred.
Mount Fuji was covered in fog.

I sat until
the water smelled sweet,
and cut the richness of the chocolate.
Sat until my body thanked me
for sitting just to sit.
I sat until I remembered that on the train
I met a withered man
hunched with hands shaking.
He looked at me and smiled.
He must have been a thousand years old,
content just to sit on a train
worshiping nothing. He waited for nothing
and breathed in richness
wherever he found could find it.

-cwa

I've Lived Many Months

Stories and Pictures
without order

Andrea and I at the International Festival. This one's for the Grandparents, people.

In the Midst Of
a story

The other night my Cinema teacher decided we should watch Kairo, this ghost-horror film by Kurosawa Kiyoshi. I tend to get so absorbed by stories—every narrative I encounter, without exception, captures me briefly, and then flings me away into the arms of another narrative. So there I was after class, walking to the cafeteria alone, surrounded by this ghost-story. To make things worse, there was this very cold mist in the air, pricking my skin—making me feel itchy and angry. I kept half-imagining the ghosts from the film, these figures of the wailing long-past, drifting into my field of vision. I was in that kind of strange space when the florescent lights of the cafeteria came into view, blurred to fuzziness by the mist.

When I got there, I just wanted to be alone. This wasn't for my own sake but others—I had determined that there was no way I could communicate. So I sat alone for a while and ate my curry rice--thought about ghosts and things. There aren't many people in the cafeteria at night, so I figured I would be left alone, which was fine, I thought.

Then I saw this kid, holding his tray and looking around the room with this strange kind of confidence. I'll be honest in saying that I wasn't very impressed by his appearance—he seemed to be the standard kind of American kid who decides to abroad in Japan for a year. He had this curly brown hair, flecked with white, and a neck that was too long. His hoody was too big, yet his skinny wrists still managed to poke out too far from beneath his sleeves.

I was considering this when he approached me. “Mind if I sit down?” He seemed genuinely concerned.
I shrugged. “Of course not,” I responded, although I'm not sure if I meant it.
“I decided not to bug any Japanese people tonight,” he said, looking out the window.
“Mmm.”
“That's what I usually do,” he continued. “...bug Japanese kids.”
“Sure,” I grunted.

After that, he just started talking. Without any probing on my part, either. Just wanted to talk, I guess. Apparently, he had been to Japan before, to travel the country playing Go with old men.

“Yeah, I'd just go to different clubs across the country,” he explained. “I'm not very good, most players were far stronger than me, but every once and a while I'd impress an old guy or two.”
“Wow.” I was interested.
“Yeah but I couldn't talk to them.” he went on. “That's the thing, I could play them in Go but I couldn't say a word to them. So I decided to come back to Japan to learn Japanese. For all those months I couldn't talk to anyone I played, and that was kind of upsetting. Communication and all that. You go crazy if you don't talk to people, you know.”
“I do know, yeah.” I nodded.

We just talked like that for quite a while. He would talk and I would sit. I started to become impressed by this kind of articulateness he had about him. I would call him genki in Japanese, which translates poorly as “spirited.” Yeah, he was one of the genki-est people I'd ever met, actually. I usually don't sit and let a guy talk like that but I was completely taken, I think, by this kid I wouldn't even nod at in the hallway. I was thinking about all these things, or maybe I was absorbed in one of his stories, when he clapped his hands together and said “Well, shall we go then?”

On the way out I shook his hand.
“I'm Corey,” I told him.
“Josh.” he replied.
“Josh, huh...thanks a lot for sitting with me.” I said, reluctantly. I thought this may be too forward, or obvious.
“Of course. See you around campus.”
At that point he walked away, with purpose. Surely he had somewhere to go.

On the way to the bike racks I looked at the street-lamps. As misty as it was, the light from the lamps had a very physical quality—like I could have reached up and cupped the yellow light in my hand, or waved it away like cigarette smoke. I stopped and looked at this light, then pulled off my hood and breathed in the mist. I must have looked like a complete idiot there, standing under the light with my face in the air, eyes closed and palms pointed upwards like I was absorbing something. But it felt like the perfect thing to do, so I did it, and at that point resigned to breathe in richness wherever I could find it.

The Locked-Up and Long Dead
a story

This kid Jesse with black hair like a helmet invited us out on Halloween. Andrea and I hadn't really decided on anything for Halloween so I thought it may be a good idea to make some official plans. I told Jessee 'yes, we'd love to go,' and he gave me the details then and there, in the middle of the library. He may have been too loud but none of the Japanese students would ever mention something like that. “So it's basically like this izakaya thing, but also like a bar, but also like a haunted house.” he explained.
“What?”
“Yeah, it's like a bar but the waiters are all dressed up and scare you and stuff,” Jesse went on. “Oh yeah, and the rooms where you eat are like dungeons, kind of. It's called 'The Lockup.' I rented a room for the night and there are like 15 people or so going. You guys should come.”
“Yeah, definitely. It sounds perfect.” I told him.
“Oh but if you don't dress up you can't come. So come dressed up or not at all.” he warned.
“Okay. I'll let Andrea know.”

On the day before Halloween Andrea and I still hadn't bought costumes, or even thought about them, so we went down to this mall kind of place called “Vivre.” Vivre is one of those dying malls, where all the stores are dated by like a year or two and there's hardly anyone ever around. So we went around in there looking for costumes. Andrea eventually decided to be a “Golf Doofus.” She got the idea from a particularly gaudy sweater I had back home. I didn't know what to be, but then I saw this ski-mask knit to look like a panda. I put it on, and it felt so great, so I decided to build my costume around that. I'm this tall, very skinny kid so I needed something in black, very tight, to put focus on the mask. I found some pants and a shirt and these black gloves that had skeleton hands printed on them.

I didn't really know what I was so I came up with this great theory about how people on Halloween always dress up “as” something instead of just dressing up. So I had just dressed up. Or dressed up as a panda-mask thing. Plus I came up with this joke about what I was, just in case anyone asked. I'd say I was “a panda man” and when they said “what's that?” I'd say “Half-panda, half-man, all man.”

We got to the station about forty minutes late and about twenty angry foreigners and fifteen Japanese girls were waiting for us, all dressed up as zombies and stuff. The train ride was kind of funny, too, but I think Andrea was embarrassed how silly I was being. I think wearing a mask does that to you—makes you act silly or whatever. People in Japan don't celebrate Halloween much so I'm sure they knew, at least, that it was a white person under the panda mask, even though they couldn't see my skin. I'm pretty tall too, like I said, so they probably guessed I wasn't Japanese.

The Lockup was about a five minute walk from the station and when we got there we had to walk through this very long hallway with fake cobwebs and stuff to get to the actual restaurant. On the way there was this very dark section with a barrel lit from beneath in red. A couple Japanese girls were in front, and I guess they don't watch a lot of movies here because they were so surprised when this fake, rubbery zombie popped out of the barrel with this loud hiss and sprayed smoke at them. They screamed, clutched at each other and all that. It was pretty funny.

They eventually led us into the dungeon room, which had these very fake bars and stone walls. Plus, we had to take off our shoes before going in and I'm not sure they'd make you do that at a real dungeon. There were two long tables and we all sat down and ordered drinks from our waitress who was dressed like a cat or something.

We were at The Lockup for a long time—about 3 hours maybe—but there was this one moment that stuck out to me. We were all sitting around talking, relatively early in the evening, when all the lights went out. Then these two voices came on very loud over the restaurant's speakers, all in Japanese. It was a guy and a girl and they were talking frantically about something and there was an alarm going off in the background. It was so cheesy. Then all the sudden 'Thriller' started playing, and the girl and guy started screaming and stuff. 'Thriller' got louder and then these black lights came on. Black lights always make people's eyes and teeth look weird but for some reason the guy across from me looked particularly scary. He was Japanese and when he caught me looking at him he took his chopsticks and put them in his nose, grinning at me. I laughed but honestly the whole thing kinda freaked me out.

Then the strobe lights came on, and the music got really loud, and all these people started running around the restaurant, screaming and banging on the walls, dressed up as stuff. These guys weren't dressed up “as” stuff at all, actually, just “dressed up,” like me. One guy had a clown suit on but he had a hockey mask on like Jason for some reason. Another guy had a kind of duck suit on without pants and at one point he ran in and pulled up his shorts and kinda danced around for everyone to see. Then there was our waitress, the girl in the cat outfit. She was running around too. All of this was while the music was playing and the lights were going and everyone we were with crowded around the “dungeon bars” to watch, and took pictures and leaned on each other.

Finally, the alarm came back on and the two Japanese people started talking over the speakers again. They sounded relieved. Then the lights came back on, everyone went back to their seats, and the night continued on until we caught the last train home at about 1 A.M.

I guess it's obvious why that moment stuck out to me. It was kind of chaotic, like a sensory overload or whatever. Besides that, though, there was something else about it. I think it was that everything was so cheesy—so fake and over-done in The States—but so very real, and so very scary, here in Japan. It was like every fake and overdone horror moment in Western History was transplanted to this bar in Kyoto, but only for about three minutes, and given new life by this deep history Japan has with ghosts and the very-long dead.

But maybe I was the only one who was scared. I'm sure Andrea would laugh at me for months if I told her about all this, but I don't care. It made me think about all the things we don't get in America, death being only one of them.

New Flavors

This post is all about snacking...
I mean it.

When you're bored, or lonely, or up too late playing Facebook Scrabble: that's when it's time for a snack. I didn't make this up--it's one of the few universal truths. Snacking is comforting. Not just for fat people, either. For everybody!

Japanese 'snacks.'

When it's time to snack, I go out and get on my bike and ride to the 'Kyuu Kyuu' store, which is open 24 hours a day. Kyuu means 9, so if you're smart than you know that everything is 99 yen at the 'Kyuu Kyuu.' Something to note about the 'Kyuu Kyuu'--they play the same song on loop in there forever. The song is the 'Kyuu Kyuu' theme song, which consists of a chorus of tinny-voiced women saying "kyuu kyuu kyuu kyuu" over and over. It's no wonder most of the employees want to die (you can see it in their sad eyes.)

'Shop Kyuu-Kyuu, Kyuu Kyuu Kyuu Kyuu Kyuu Kyuu'

But there is a grave problem with snacking in Japan as a result of a phenomenon I've cleverly named "Snack Disappointment." It's when you're disappointed in your snack, dudes, and it's a terrible thing.

Here's the scenario: You just finished the season finale of Survivor: Guatemala on TV Links, and, given your apparent disappointment/outrage at Danni having won the million, you want to snack away that sadness. So you get on your bike and let your knuckles get chapped in the early-fall cold in order to get to the 'Kyuu Kyuu.' You pick up some chips and a drink, give it to the dead-inside employee, and then step outside. On the ride home, you hum the 'Kyuu Kyuu' song, or sing it, because you know all the words. Upon returning home you break open your bag of chips and have a look in, and they seem to be flecked with green and white. Of course you think "Sour Cream and Onion, all right dude!" and take a bite. But of course, it's nothing so delicious. Instead it's 'Seaweed and Salmon Roe' flavor. Then you want to wash away that taste so you take a big swig of whatever drink you bought. You pop open the can and tip it up, and there's another surprise: it's not a drink at all, but gelatin in a can. You bought Mango-Persimmon Jello to wash down your Saweed and Salmon Roe chips.

This 'something' has tentacles.

Now this isn't the worst thing in the world. The chips are, after all, not that bad--and who doesn't like Jello? So usually it's all eaten in a few minutes, and you sit back down on the computer with a full belly. But you're not satisfied. Even though you're no longer hungry, you're not satisfied, and that's what snaking is about: satisfaction. But you can't go out and buy a new snack, because you're full, and you already heard the 'Kyuu Kyuu' song, and you don't want to put your shoes back on, duh.

The problem may be variety. They have so many snacks to choose from, and all the flavors are new and foreign. For example, aloe is a flavor here. Aloe, you guys. I had some aloe yogurt the other day, and it tasted like aloe. Gross. Also, the beer snack of choice here is salted and dried Cuttlefish. All the Japanese people know the English word for Cuttlefish--probably because they have had to explain so many times to foreigners what dried, tentacled monster they were eating with their Asahii: Super Dry.



When I first got here, I was addicted to new flavors. I was surprised and delighted when it turned out the Ice Cream bar I thought was Mint Chocolate was really Green Tea. But after a while, I find myself in need of something familiar. I want to eat the freezer-burned Vanilla Ice Cream that's always in my freezer. I want to make cheap, fake, Americanized Ramen and eat it on a couch (P.S. they don't have couches here, and who would have imagined that that was going to be a problem?)

The more perceptive among you will say 'Snack Disappointment' is a manifestation of Homesickness, but I'm unwilling to admit that I'm home-sick yet, so I'll just continue to make my snack-selection based on which bag is represented by the cutest mascot. But sometimes, that's a tough choice, too...

This is adorable or terrifying.

In closing, my Facebook Scrabble letters just happened to spell "o yeah," and that's some kind of sign from God I'm unable interpret. I hope it means "go play Gameboy," because that's what I'm going to do.

Goodnight.

-cwa

My Logic Ruins

Trip Alone to Tokyo
...and in the last minute

Naoki and I, two years ago..

It's very important to me that every once and a while I make a bad decision. Not the good kind of bad decision, either—the one's where you've taken a risk that pays off—but the bad kind of bad decision, where you shoulder the entire weight of your consequences. Where you just get slapped, full on in the face, by the universe. And your face stings for weeks. Sure, you learn something, but still...was it worth it?

Sometimes I have to make those kinds of decisions to stay grounded—to stay rooted in imperfection. Sometimes I have to not study for a very important test, or spend a bunch of money on something that doesn't matter, or start smoking again for the tenth time (I'm quitting now, Grandma, I promise).

I think I intended my last minute trip to Tokyo to be one of these decisions. Luckily, unluckily, it turned out to be the good kind of bad decision— the 'risk-taking pay off' kind. So don't worry.

I had been planning all week (kinda) to go because I wanted to see Naoki. I met Naoki when he came and lived in our house for a while, in Louisville. We were to host him as a foreign exchange student (another last minute decision, bear in mind) for three weeks. We had a great time, and he was the main reason my we went to Japan the first time (we being my brothers, and Dad, and Ben Ortega.) So I decided to take off and see him. I was going to leave on Friday, so naturally I went to get my bus ticket on Thursday. And naturally they were out of bus tickets for Friday. All they had left, the nice Japanese lady said, was a one way ticket on the night bus to Tokyo that night—Thursday night.

I try to be a good student so I left, decided to stay in town that weekend, go to my test review in the morning—whatever, whatever. But then the bad decision making thing cropped up and I ran back and bought the ticket. I was to leave in 3 hours, with no way back.

In Tokyo, I found out later, you can ride a panda around the arcade for only 100 yen. That was a good enough reason to go in itself.

I was really stressed out in the bus station. I had hardly talked to Naoki and I wasn't going to meet him until Saturday morning. So I had no place to stay Friday night and no way back home—but in line for the bus I saw some Kansai Gaidai kids and asked them where they were staying. They were very kind and gave me the number to the hostel where they were staying. I called it up and just like that I had a place to stay—and even the numbers of some white people to call if I got scared. I boarded the night bus, and by the time I noticed the seat next to me was empty, I was confident that this was the bad decision gone good kind of decision. I just had that feeling. And I had leg room. It was nice.

Tonight, I'm on my way

...oooh tonight.

They gave me an inflatable neck pillow, and an eye-mask, and some ear plugs, and then all the lights went out. I had nothing to do but sleep. Sitting awake in the dark and thinking was just too creepy. But the vibrations of the bus, and the light from the street lamps shooting by the window reminded me of road trips with my family when I was a kid so I slept, soundly, the entire ride. It was about a nine hour trip. But every once and a while I'd wake up at a Japanese rest area—packed with about 100 buses and full of strange Japanese snacks. It had just rained and everything reflected everything. Or those may have been dreams.

When I got there I just walked right up to the JR station and bought a night bus ticket home. So I had a place to stay and a way home and by 7 A.M. I was drinking Coffee and eating an egg sandwich in Excelsior Coffee and all was right in the world. On a side note, 'Excelsior' is something you scream in D & D (Dungeons and Dragons, duh) when you're happy. Kind of like “hooray,” but more ostracizing. I thought this was hilarious but try explaining that to a Japanese person so I just sat and laughed alone :(

I wasn't taking any chances with this guy...I smelled bird flu ALL over 'em...

I'm only realizing now that at this pace this entry will go on for weeks so I'm going to pick it up a bit. I'm sure you guys will appreciate my doing so because I'm very boring, thankyouverymuch.

Ah-hem. Back on track.

One reason for going to Tokyo alone was to perfect my bad-Japanese. Bad-Japanese is a hard language to speak and I needed training. That training came in the form of two girls, my age, from Kobe. They were standing in the train station, as confused as I was regarding what to do for the next few hours, and we went to Asakusa together. Three towering monuments in Asakusa: 1. An old shrine, which has now become a famous tourist attraction 2. The oldest theme park in Japan, which is washed out and faded and scary 3. Bandai headquarters, complete with life-size Ultraman models throughout. Cool.

So after eating Indian buffet with those two I checked into my hostel—which was in Asakusa, called Sakura. I went to sleep at 1 P.M., then woke up, bleary-eyed and completely confused, around 6 P.M. Then I met an Aussie traveling the world (don't they all travel the world?) and called the white kids from Kansai, who I met and chilled with the rest of the night. They were great people and I had a great time.

Naoki-San!
Ohisashiburi, desu ne?

When I woke up on Saturday around 9 A.M. I was so excited to see Naoki again. I hadn't seen him in years and when we finally met up, he gave me a hug. That meant a lot because they don't hug in Japan. Even the best of friends. Naoki looks the same, but he's a city kid now, and he dresses well. He kept trying to buy my train tickets all day but I made him stop. That day we chilled in Akihabara, which is the famous technology/toy district of Tokyo, and has a 7 story shop that's all robot stuff. Cool.

These were taken on Naoki's cell phone so they are off center. Whatever.

We were supposed to stay in his uncle's house but that fell through and we ended up staying in a capsul hotel. I guess I'll explain what that is: basically you pay about 40 bucks and get a room that's shaped like a coffin. They are stacked on top of each other and each has a little TV, plus just enough room to sit up, if you're tiny (or not me.) So we napped, then woke up, then met up the Kansai kids for a little Uno. The Japanese know how to play Uno, Naoki taught me. I'm glad that Uno is cross cultural, because if it wasn't I would just flip.

That was Saturday night. We slept soundly in our coffins and woke up to bathe around 10 A.M., Sunday. Soon after we left for Chiba, just outside of Tokyo, to see Naoki's work. I was also able to talk to Naoki's mom on the phone before we left and that was nice.

I'm big and dumb looking. This other guy is Naoki's good friend.

Naoki is very excited to be Assistant Assistant Manager at a Chinese Restaurant in Chiba. In Japan, when you have a job, it's your life. They take care of everything for you. Not just insurance, salary, whathaveyou but also a place to live and even a way to get to and from work, sometimes. So Naoki lives in an apartment owned by his work, with one of his superiors, in Chiba. I was introduced to his buddies, who he told me he is very very lucky to have. He has a lot of respect for those guys, and after eating a little Okonomiyaki with them I do, too. Naoki and his friends work 5 days a week. They get Wednesday and Thursday off and work from 9 A.M., to 10 P.M. I can't imagine this kind of life but he seem so happy with it, and that made me think—at least a little.

Naoki is the king of this castle...or maybe the prince.

After that we met up with the Kansai Gaidai kids in Tokyo for a little while before I had to catch my night bus at 11 P.M. Naoki and I sat in the train station together for a while—at some noodles, sat in not-awkward-at all silence, and then talked a while. When it was time to go, and we were saying goodbye, Naoki wanted to look a word up in his electronic-dicionary-phone thing. He pointed to the word, and it's translation was 'forlorn.' Now these dictionaries, they do strange things—bad translations, misinterpretations, and worse—but part of me thinks that 'forlorn' may have been the perfect word. And maybe this old friend of mine, this very-happy Chinese food cook, was truly 'forlorn' to see me go, to be alone again in Chiba. I may have been forlorn, too. Who knows.

He's the man. Bought me an Eva shirt, too. What a saint.

On the night bus home I listened to Feist. Her gentle rasp, her talk of Winter, her nostalgic Jazzy humming—it always makes me think about history. When I listen to her, I always wonder what I'll remember when my own voice is just a rasp, and when I'm writing songs, or whatever, about the past. I think maybe I'll remember trips like this one, but how can I be sure? I guess I'm glad I'm getting it all down now, in this oh-so-indulgent blog, and even though I'm sad to be making poor saps like you read it I'm happy it's getting done. Keeping this thing alive has been one of those very rare 'good-good decisions,' the one's where you decide to do something, and it turns out just right.

Moo Rah Rah Rain

Ominesan
With shrines and such...





The tea bowls, three or four hundred years old, were sound and healthy, and they called up no morbid thoughts. Life seemed to stretch taut over them, however, in a way that was almost sensual.

Seeing his father and Fumiko's mother in the bowls, Kikuji felt that they had raised two beautiful ghosts and placed them side by side.

-Yasunari Kawabata, from his novel Thousand Cranes

Ghost Mountain
Camping trip at the base Ominasan



I've been keeping consistent company, believe it or not. I wouldn't say that I've found a set group of friends but I've certainly got a few people with whom I can always spend time. Last weekend a group of us decided to go camping. Nature and I get along well enough so I decided it could be a great experience.

That morning I woke up and took a bus to the Hirakata City Train Station. The night before I had gotten Animal Collective's new album, Strawberry Jam, from iTunes. That's really the only way I can get reasonably priced music over here. In any case I've been listening to the album non-stop and I think it's significant that the first time I heard it I was on a bus to Japan on my way to go camping. Not sure why, though...

Back on track: when I got to the station and onto the train, I realized that the people I was camping with were like...campers. These guys had big backpacks and thromorests and waterproof shoes and sleeping bags and white gas and camping stoves and bandannas--although at least had one of those, too. In any case the plans had changed and we were to hike up a mountain by the name of Ominesan.

I was fine with this--I was excited, actually. I wasn't exactly prepared to hike up the largest mountain on the southern side of this island, but that's to be expected. I've learned to take things as they come around here. It was an hour train ride, an hour bus ride, and an hour walk to the base of Ominesan. We found a campsite and put up some crude form of a tent to keep out water. We stayed up, roasted marshmellows for a Japanese kid who couldn't pronounce "smores," and talked until we got tired. Then we packed under the tarp and tried to sleep.

That night it rained and rained. I'm not sure I've mentioned this but it's rained almost every day since I've been here. It's usually not a bad thing--I love the sound and smell of rain when I'm in a good mood. But that night I had no sleeping bag and just a big blue tarp strung above me. Luckily that day we had bought full rain suits in preparation--you can see me wearing one in the picture above. By the time I woke up I was exhausted. That's a strange sentence, I know. In any case my back was giving me problems even before that night and by the time we were frying up hot dogs and noodles that morning it was clear to me that I wasn't going to make it up Ominesan.


Here's what I missed out on--beautiful, huh? There's more pictures from the top of the mountain throughout the post, courtesy of my buddy Andrew Levine.

I have a history with mountains here in Japan. When I can here two years ago we traveled a long way to see Mt. Fuji but the fog was so thick we couldn't even see it's base. That's been a subject of a lot of my writing in the states, believe it or not. Then, when I passed Fuji a few weeks ago on the Shinkansen, I forgot to even look out the window. I still have never seen Mt. Fuji. I have a poem about it I may post one of these days, when I'm feeling bold. Mountains always seem to get the better of me, leave me deflated, leave me sitting alone in thought.

So by the time we stepped onto the mountain trail I had to tell the guys I wasn't going up--my back was killing me and I was tired and scared and angry, a little, at my weakness. Was it
weakness?

Out of the club :(

They went up the mountain and I stayed at the base. It was raining again and I had to take the next bus home--in four hours. I was determined, however, to enjoy this place. The bus had taken us quite a ways into the mountain range and the town we were in was tucked right in the middle of a valley. Here's a view from the top of the mountain, taken by my buddy Andrew Levine--who took most of these pictures. You can see the town there surrounded by wood. You can tell it was quite the hike for the guys--well over 10 Kilometers, I think.




So there I was alone. The more I walked the more I began to feel a sense of relief. It was raining heavily at that point, and the sound was gorgeous. All of a sudden I was absolutely elated and being left on my own. I crossed the street and charged headlong into the forest, not knowing exactly where I was going. I ran until I found a stream. The rain was coming in sheets now--but it was so warm and the sound of the rushing water was exhilarating so I just keep on hiking--up and down rocks, though the woods, until I found this tiny wooden hut built for hikers. It was just big enough to keep the water out. I dropped my bag off there so I could run in the rain without it.


It's a strange feeling to enjoy being rained on. A light shower or something, that's different, but to be caught in a downpour which you never want to end--that's rare. My thousand yen rain suit worked perfectly--I splashed through puddles and trudged down streams until the sun came out and I had been in the forest for hours. Forgive me for getting stuck on the beauty of these landscapes but the view after this rain was astonishing. I was standing on this suspension bridge above the stream and I could see ahead of me tier upon forested tier of mountains. A thick fog hung above the mountains in white. The fog shuttered and swayed when the wind blew hard enough. I remember admiring the view until the dragonflies around my head brought me back to reality. That's when I decided to sit down and write.


I'm determined to see this place before I leave--maybe in the Fall, with Ryo or Andrea...

After writing for a while I decided to clean up at the local Onsen. An Onsen is a natural hot spring converted into a public bath. So I trudged in and sat in sulfury water with shriveled, naked Japanese men. The Onsen was perfect in the mist that lingered after the rain. I took the next bus/train combo I could catch and went home alone. Here's me outside the Onsen--I had gone the day before with the guys:



And May I Say, Not in a Shy Way...
Karaoke

I was alone that night, kind of. We had Monday off in honor of Respect for the Aged day but by the time I got back everyone was asleep or out or on a mountain. I decided to take the night on my own. I biked to this tiny Chinese place which I frequent (ironic, huh?) and ordered some food. After that, and a chat with the owner, I was going to go home and sleep.

On the way home, though, I saw a blue sign atop which sat a spinning red light. I read that it was a Karaoke bar and I decided I had to see what it was like. I looked in and the place was no bigger than my room here--about ten by fifteen feet. The only costumers were about 8 older men--in their 50's, I'd wager, and one woman. There was woman behind the counter, too. It was too awkward to leave at that point so I had a seat and just watched them sing for a while.

After about twenty minutes one of the men approached me and pointed out to me an American song I didn't recognize. I got to talking to him about music and I mentioned Frank Sinatra--who most Japanese seem to know. At that point he was determined to convince me to sing My Way. It's one of my favorite songs, and one of my few favorite Karaoke songs, so maybe I pushed him in that direction. In any case there I was, standing in a tiny room singing My Way in as loud and American a voice I could manage. I got a standing ovation. They wouldn't let me leave without singing another, so of course I picked Hey Jude. They sang along but mostly just to the "na na na na Hey Jude's."

Wow, this post kind of got away from me. I guess I've failed at the whole "short and sweet" thing. In any case I've neglected to write all week and it's Friday again so maybe I'll be writing again soon. I plan on doing various poetry and fiction work this weekend--maybe I'll post some. Tonight, though, I'm meeting with my Japanese buddy Ryo--the two of us met a few years back on my first trip. We have a date with a batting cage, if I remember correctly...

Thanks for reading.

Modern World

Early September
Settling in...


Me and a friend shopping for cell phone charms at "Kiddy Land." Unfortunate name, huh?

I'm doing a disservice in waiting so long to post a new entry. So much happens in an hour, a day, a week that by the time I write everything is so very generalized. In Japan, I've found, meaning comes to me through things minute--a man smoking heavily in the park, the florescent glow of a liquor storefront, the twelfth evening with rain in fourteen evenings-- so this broad approach to blogging may not work. In time I'll start posting shorter entries with greater frequency. I think that's the way to go.

We Built Another World
Himeji Castle



Himeji Castle was built in 1333 and even today may be one of the most striking military structures ever conceived. Four days ago one of my new friends grabbed me in the hallway to tell me he had just that day learned about the place and he was just that day going to visit. His hurried pace down the hallway and wave over the shoulder was enough to convince me--I ditched class that day and took a train to the Hyogo prefecture.




The general conceit of a castle is that there are so many walls--so many doors and halls and twisting corridors--that it takes well over and hour to travel the distance normally covered in a few minutes. Himeji, built on a hill, has "the keep" as its centerpiece. After walking through each rampart, up each flight of stairs, past every single wrought iron door, we found ourselves in the topmost floor of the keep. As tourists it took us well over an hour. It was hard not to imagine that as soldiers--bearing swords and armor, avoiding boiling water and flaming arrows, it would certainly have taken much longer. But I'm a nerdy guy and I imagine things like that...often. The reality is that Himeji was never successfully sieged. In fact I was told that after the Meiji period about a hundred men holed up inside the castle walls and no conceivable amount of force or energy could get them out. The Japanese Government, at a loss, eventually had to cut supply lines and just wait for concession on the part of the few resilient soldiers.

Great picture taken by Andrea. My camera broke so I borrow some of her pictures from time to time in the blog. Some are mine, some are hers. I honestly usually don't remember whose are whose.


Himeji, like so many other historic sites of Japan, surprised me. Once again, amidst miles and miles of malls and restaurants, this hulking ghost of Japanese past just looms. I'm not sure I could call it out of place. It fits surprisingly well, all things considered. But I can't help but be reminded of this perfect balance Japan is trying so desperately to strike between two contradictory forces: the first involves traditionalism, modesty, and nationalistic independence while the second concerns itself with Western modernity, industrialism, and adaptability. I'm not sure the balance is even possible. Jun'ichiro Tanizaki--the brilliant author of the words posted in the previous post--doesn't think so either. If you get a chance, try to check out his essay, In Praise of Shadows. It's about essential Japanese aesthetics and how they mesh, or don't, with Western technology. It's more interesting than I make it sound, I assure you.

On a lighter note, this little guy was chillin' outside Himeji castle:


That's right, it's a prairie dog in people clothes. I dunno if this is a Japanese thing or just the adorable pet of a crazy man. At this point neither would surprise me.

Eating, Drinking, Being Merry

The lure of the Izukaya--or traditional Japanese bar/restaurant--has yet to wane. I still find myself wandering to these places for dinner--sitting on tiny pillows and tatami, sometimes alone, conversing in terrible Japanese with the owner and customers. Here's a picture of the usual aftermath:


Besides that I've eaten sushi at the rotating-plate place a few times. Andrew, the dude in this picture, eats about twenty plates every time.



I bought a cell phone, I bought a bike, I bought my school books. Now that all the big spending is out of the way I'll try to stick closer to my budget. Hope it works out. As for my studies, I take Spoken Japanese five days a week and study every night. Once and a while I'll understand completely a string of Japanese words--it surprises me every time. In literature we just finished our first novel--The Key by the afore mentioned Mr. Tanikzaki. In film we've watched two movies, Swallowtail by Shunji Iwaii and a movie called Gohatto by...some dude I forgot. Gohatto had Beat Takeshi in it, and he's always a bizarre treat.

Thanks for reading and I'll keep 'em short and sweet from now on, when I can. Comment away and drop me lines via email!

-cwa

coreywaite@gmail.com

Inkwash Alcove

Early September, Himeji Castle

And yet, when we gaze into the darkness that gathers behind the crossbeam, around the flower vase, beneath the shelves, though we know perfectly well it is mere shadow, we are overcome with the feeling that in this small corner of the atmosphere there reigns complete and utter silence; that here in the darkness immutable tranquility holds sway. The "mysterious Orient" of which Westerners speak probably refers to the uncanny silence of these dark places. And even we as children would feel and inexpressible chill as we peered into the depths of an alcove to which the sunlight had never penetrated. Where lies the key to this mystery? Ultimately it is the magic of shadows. Were the shadows to be banished from its corners, the alcove would in that instant revert to mere void.

Excerpt from In Praise of Shadows by Jun'ichiro Tanizaki