Week One (pictures coming)

Since I know I am going to have a more definitive post on things like work, people I know, students, etc, I am just going to touch on some of the things I have done this week divided up among the areas of town that I saw. Since everything is so new I am spending most of my time getting to know the various areas on interest, and don't always have my camera with me. My intention is to find cool places, then come back later on a touristy mission, which I admit is completely stupid. It occurred to me that this is really long, and probably boring, but if you want a lot of detail please read through the entire thing. If you just want highlights, skim the first couple of sentences, and berate me for being a pretentious jerk later.

Musashino-Sakai: The place where I live and work

(My apartment, my building at school (the office has the yellow sign in the window), Skip Dori (small shopping area))

It took me about two and a half hours to get here from the airport, so now I am a bit hesitant to tell people to come and visit as going to pick them up is going to be a day trip. The whole way home I could not stop feeling sorry for the student assistant (SA) who remained positive and insightful the entire trip back. She only told me a few things about Tokyo as they flew past us in the window, one of which was the ubiquitous Love Hotel where anonymous couples meet for sex. Already the lack of puritanical origins was becoming apparent. When the train starting passing through the busiest areas of town, Shanti (the SA) warned me that the train was going to fill up, and it did, though not as much as I would see later in the week when breathing became difficult and someone's hand brushing your ass was purely consequential.

I got a few tours of the neighborhood in order to find the necessary means of survival. Russell, a second year, took the three newbies out on the first night to get some groceries at what I would later find out was the most expensive store in the area. That is not to say that Japan is this ultra expensive city, most of the things I have bought and seen here are about the same as they would be in the states, with maybe a few pennies more on some items. For some general supplies we went to the hundred yen shop, which I still refer to as the dollar store. You might think this cheap and consequently crappy, and some things are, a lot of what you can get there is practical and worth getting. Further on in the tour was a ninety-nine yen shop which had a lot of household items and also a good selection of foods like fruits, vegetables, and seasonings, and most everything there looks good, even if the portions are smaller. For example, you can buy a single tomato, apple, or chicken breast for ninety-nine yen, and they look great. I buy a lot of bananas there since you can get a bunch of four. The thing about these two stores, though, is that whenever I see the ninety-nine yen store I think, somewhere out there is a guy who walks by the hundred yen shop and says, "What a rip-off."

Further along are department stores and shopping centers like J-Mart (which, coincidentally, is about one letter better than K-Mart). The ones by the train station are nice, but are a lot more expensive as they cater to people who are stopping by on the way to work. J-Mart is a good place to get home supplies, but is far enough away that the trip is best made by bike or bus. This leads me to bikes, the indispensable object. Generic, just getting around town bikes here run for about one to two hundred dollars depending on if you want one or three gears. The tallest bike you can get is about twenty-seven centimeters, which is short for a guy like me. The advice on got on buying one was from a coworker named Mark, a man who maintains a serious composure while his eyes betray a frustration that is constantly on the verge of blowing underneath. At work he recommended I shop around and wait till there's a sale on bikes before I go and buy one. At a bar a few beers later, his advice was, "Just buy the fucking thing, you fucking need it."

In the neighborhood I feel pretty safe. There are never people around causing trouble; actually there are hardly people around at all. The shops are all suited to serving the community and not tourists or business people from the train, and everyone seems to know that the university caters to foreigners, so no one is surprised that a white dude is smelling melons in the produce section. At the same time this serves as a poor place to just go out and have fun, necessitating a ride on the train which is both expensive (a short trip can cost $3) but extremely convenient as it goes nearly everywhere, the rest picked up by the subway.

Kichijoji: Buy stuff here

(Entrance to covered shopping area, a temple, inside of temple, park)

This is the big shopping center, and my first foray into the greater Tokyo area. I was sitting around my apartment thinking there was this great big city out there with stuff happening and here I was watching Doom, the movie. I knocked on Russell's door and asked, bluntly, where do people go to hang out and have fun? Being the smart guy that he is, he gave me this stop on the train, which is only two stops from Sakai and easy to find even for someone who just got here. This was the place I really learned about what it meant to live here, not just in terms of going shopping and seeing the popular hangouts, but in how hard it can be to get around and what happens when you make a small mistake in direction.

One of the first things I saw when I got there was a Clockwork Orange themed bar, which I immediately noted as a place I had to go to. Being that I had just gotten there, I decided I would stop by on the way back to the train, rest my feet for a bit, and try to make up my rassoodocks. But sadly this was not meant to be as none of the streets here go in a simple grid like pattern. On a number of occasions I found myself walking past the same building three or four times when I know I started out on a new avenue. Here there are streets that are crowded with shops and restaurants; so many that they are often stacked on one another in such a way that you really have to look to happen across something. In all my walking, I never saw a bar or club that you could just peek inside to see if it was my sort of place. They all were in basements with tiny signs, only a few in English, and I thought it best to get recommendations rather than stand in doorways looking like a transient.

Alleys, too, are filled with shops and eateries. You can peer down a narrow passage and there will still be various lit up signs selling...I don't know, something. These seemed more for the locals since nothing about the place was in English and carried tradition Japanese foods or decorations. But my curiosity got the better of my here and I wandered down one of these alleys just to see what there was, and found that after a block the stores just ended, and you can no longer see where you came from. I must have walked for about half an hour before I figured out that I was getting nowhere and turned around, guessing the whole way that a particular vehicle was there when I was going the other direction.

When I finally found the station I had been walking for about two and a half hours. No longer interested in tracking down the Clockwork Orange Bar, I hopped the train and headed back. But how hard could it be to screw up going west two stops? Not very, apparently, as when I got to the first stop, Mitaka, the train turned around took me back to Kichijoji where I got off and watched it head further into the city. I tried again, only this time I got off at Mitaka and waited to see where the train would go, thinking I would just catch the next one if it turned out to be correct. But it wasn't, and neither were any of the others. After consulting a map for ten minutes, I made the decision to walk the rest of the way home, perhaps no more than a couple of miles. Thankfully, I was able to follow the tracks and find the next station on foot. That night I don't think I have slept that while the whole time I have been here.

Shinjuku: Porn town

(A couple of street shots, giant moving crab in building)

This was a disappointment. I am meeting with someone today (3-26-2006) to get a tour of some of the sights, but my time there alone led to nothing that I can really go back to. Since my visit I have toured around and found a couple of places of interest, one a From Dusk Till Dawn movie themed bar that I have to check out if only for a few minutes, but other than that this is a spot that most websites and books refer to as the Red Light District first and foremost. I didn't this the first time I went there, but no matter how hard I tried to get away from it, I stuck out so well that I was constantly becoming the target of representatives out walking the streets.

When I first got there I was surprised at the number of people, again, and the number of shops crammed into a single space. I made my way down one of the larger, more popular blocks and found what I expected to: more people and more shops. Outside of each shop were people in bright yellow coats handing out free samples and catalogs. None of them ever looked at me twice, which sort of made me feel angry for knowing what it was like to be discriminated against. I guess I can't blame them since I look like a tourist and have little reason to get a cell phone. Even though, in reality, I am going to be here a while and will be purchasing one as soon as I can get an Alien card.

After several blocks of this, I was starting to get bored. I peered down alleys as I had done in Kichijoji, saw some signs, but kept walking. About five blocks from the station I large Nigerian man stopped me and started talking. I don't think I could have given away my ignorance any more if I had been walking around with all my cash in hand. He stopped me, was polite enough, and said there was a great club around the corner that he had to show me. Stupid, don't stand there and listen, just walk away. You can come and take a look, he said. It's free, and if you want to stay, you can. No thanks, I have to meet some people, I said. I checked my watch to convey some idea that I had other obligations. They will fucking love you, he said. You are white, they love you. You can touch them. That was one of the grossest things I think he could have said. Imagining the kind of people who might frequent such a place makes me want to avoid imagining all their hands gracing the same space. I'll admit, I have a little trouble touching the railings in the train stations. I have to go, I said. Ok, he said. But there is a place a block up that you shouldn't go to. It is a fucking shithole. As if he even needed to tell me.

This happened another four or five times. The further I got from the station the worse it seemed to get until the shops had people standing outside who were old, Japanese, in poor health, and barely spoke more English than, sex massage. Yeah, that really makes me want to see what you have to offer in terms of naked chicks. By then I had already given up on finding anything I would want to tell people about. I found my way back to the station with little trouble and got home early by comparison.

I should mention that Shinjuku is a major train hub with six major lines heading through it. If I am planning on going anywhere in the greater Tokyo area, I am going through this station to get there. There is even a major subway hub located nearby, which I had to hop when I went to Roppongi. As I have said, the trains are a great way to get around, especially when there is little help for people who own cars. I think I have seen only a few gas stations since I have been here, a few places on the street where you can park, and streets are often crowded with people in major areas. I was talking to a coworker here who told me that he has a car so he can take his family on long trips, such as visiting his in-laws. The cost of taking a flight even in the country is about $700 a person, while driving across the country would cost about $500 for the tolls on the road and another $100 for gas. Here I was thinking that I would be able to fly anywhere for cheap once I arrived. Even the bullet train costs as much as a flight in some cases. I might be stuck here for a while.

Shibuya: Or, if a girl talks to me on the street I am just going to assume she's a prostitute.

This is the place that they filmed the movie Lost in Translation. This is what everyone told me when I asked, and I never mentioned the fact that I refuse to ever see this movie on general principle. When the trailers for it came out I thought it looked stupid and refused to see it, then the glowing reviews came out and I swayed a little, but after that everyone who saw it said I had to see it, and the needle went from "no interest in seeing it" to "I will never see this movie, even if it means my life will end completely unfulfilled." But everything you've seen in the movie, I assume, is there. From the giant TV in the building to the intersection that's a big open arena filled with people when the light turns green. I should mention that when I said I never saw the movie, Russell tore through his apartment to find his copy just so I could borrow it. I was genuinely afraid that he would plug it in and make me watch it with him right there.

The secondary title to this section comes from another overlong walk I took past all the commercial areas in Shibuya and entered the more residential zone. There was a girl standing on the sidewalk wearing nothing out of ordinary, a tan coat, blue jeans, black shoes. Her hair wasn't dyed, but came down just past her chin and framed her face decorated with little make-up. When she approached me I was one of a few people on the whole block, spaced far enough apart that no one would think foolish of me for talking to her. She said something in Japanese that was inflected in such a way that made it sounds like a question, but she spoke so fast that I was barely able to discern any of it. Given the circumstances, I just assumed that she'd asked me if I was lost, which is fair since I did look lost. I'm sorry, I said, I don't understand. I could have said this in Japanese, but I didn't want to give her any impression that I knew the language. She walked me over to a sign and ran her finger across the characters, reading them slowly as she went. I would like to say this was a good idea, but it struck me as incredibly stupid at the time. If someone doesn't know how to speak a language, what are the odds that they're going to know how to read it? I saw some numbers on the board, and just said, no, thank you. I still have no idea what it was she was trying to tell me, and I shouldn't assume that she was a prostitute.

A fashion style that was popular about a year ago and has since waned is for girls to get a really dark tan, dye their hair bronze of blond, and paint the area around their eyes this silvery white with black eyeshadow so they look like backup singers for Mr. Mistoffelees. There were a few of these girls walking about, usually in pairs, but far fewer than there once had been, so I'm told. I should note here that clothing style and intended to advertise their lifestyle. It's more like a costume that they want to adopt. You'll have a guy with a green mohawk and studded leather that could care less about the Kyoto treaty or the threat of a fascist dictatorship. More than likely many of my students will come in with a rather striking fashion sense at the beginning of the semester that will completely change by the end.

This outing was a bit smarter since I learned to look up a few places of interest before I came out. The problem with that, however, is since I don't know the area and am still learning my way around, I had to carry a piece of paper with names, directions, and a tiny map drawn onto it, so every time I pulled it out I was advertising my ignorance. Shibuya is, in general, a bit more foreigner-friendly area than the others I have seen, so I saw a fair number of people who were white and black traveling around with their Japanese girlfriends.

The first place of interest was a club that I read about in Metropolis magazine, a free English language publication with events, classifieds, and articles that showcase the cool spots around Tokyo. There was supposedly a party that a club hosted the week before, and I assumed that if it was in the magazine, the club would be a bit friendlier to a foreigner like me. After walking past it three times, I found the staircase leading up to it, opened the front door, and immediately left. Even at nine pm the place was completely empty save for a bartender and a waitress. I thought I would come back later, but I never did.

The second place was an English themed pub called the Hub (and the fact that it rhymes makes me ill). This is my new favorite hangout here since the food and atmosphere is truly British in feel and a fair number of the people there looked like foreigners. The nice thing about this place is that it is part of a chain with maybe four other locations just like this one, so I don't have to go as far to chill out for a bit. Drinks weren't too expensive, and I just cooled my heels and subtly laughed at the Scottish and British patrons make asses of themselves. Again, though, even supplied with a map, directions, and landmarks, I must have walked past this place five times before I happened across it completely by accident after having given up finding it at all.

The last place was Gas Panic, another basement club that was less than a block from the station. When I walked in I was a little taken aback by the fact that most of the men there were foreigners, but the only other white guy there was the bouncer. The rest where beefy black dudes that lined the perimeter of the club with a beer in their large fists and their backs only an inch from the wall. The center of the club was filled with hip-hop influenced Japanese guys and girls, while the music was the Backstreet Boys. I turned around and walked out. It was later when I was recounting this to Denny, a third year teacher here that this was a military bar, and it was a good thing I didn't start something since it would have been painful.

Overall, a good outing, and a place worth exploring in the future.

Roppongi: Lots of white people here

When I got here I was hesitant to just meld with the group. In my graduate program it was near impossible to get to know people outside of the school, and what few people did it always seemed like their friendships were superficial at best. Even relationships didn't seem particularly important to them, and the group existed in its own city far away from the rest of the world. So, no, I didn't want to settle for my coworkers and see them everyday at the apartment where most of us live, at work, and at the local bar, which is nice, but gets old after four or five visits. Not that I don't think everyone here is nice, which I will talk about more in the work section later, it's just that when you see someone everyday you run out of things to talk about. If I hang out with a group of people from work, the last thing I want to talk about is work, but everyone else won't shut up about it. So that's my preface to my visit to Roppongi, where I had signed up to go to an international party.

A quick note on these parties. Russell told me about them the second day I was here as a good way to meet women and maybe some other people who speak English. It turns out the only reason people go to these is to meet women. Upon arrival you will notice that the men outnumber the women by a ratio of about four to one. This is made worse by the fact that there are only four or five women there who are attractive (by any standard) and they have a constant entourage of four or five men around them each vying for their attention. Strangely enough, I think I was one of maybe three Americans there and another wore an ostentatious cowboy hat that nearly convinced me to fake an accent to avoid association. The others were polite and supportive in our collective quest for booty, as this German dude came in and tried to give me some support when he noticed I wasn't talking to anyone. The drinks were covered in the entry fee, but it would take at least six of them to equal one you would have paid for. Food was also available, and consisted of a few paper plates of popcorn, cheese puffs, and Oreo knock-offs. I'm sure they were able to cover all expenses for the night with the first three people who arrived.

Near the end of the party (which was only three hours long and started at 6pm), this girl who was working there got absolutely hammered and started going around giving people hell and acting, well, like an American brat. I struck up a conversation with her and was immediately surprised at her accent, which was a mix of Japanese and Spanish, and she switched to Spanish a couple of times during the chat and I have to say, she spoke it quite well. Once the party was over I ended up going to another place nearby with the Spanish brat, this Indian guy who had been living in Japan for 11 years, and another woman who had lived in Miami for six. It was an interesting group, and we hung out and chatted until about 11:30 when the Indian had to catch the last train home or pay for a cab and the rest of us were too tired to from complete sentences. Fun had by all, though I'm not going to run out and do another one of these again any time soon.

Other than that, Roppongi has little in the way of shops, but has a few other really cool looking places such as the Motown Club, a jazz club, and a 7 story Don Quixote, a shopping place like Target but crammed with as much stuff as possible with little regard for aesthetics. This is also the area with the famous Tokyo Tower, a red and white version of the Eiffel Tower built in the fifties. Apparently they're pretty proud of it, but for what reason I have yet to find out.

Onward to week two. I'll have those pictures up when I get them, but no promises.