Strong With The Drink

Traveling alone is something everyone should do at least once in his or her lifetime. Traveling by myself, at my own crazy pace, doing exactly what I wanted, and not waiting for anyone was something I had been looking forward to for a long time. Alas, after about the one-week mark things start to get lonely and weird. Things that used to be thoughts were suddenly words, and I found myself talking way too much to myself like a hobo. But, as the boredom of not talking to anyone in real English set in I found interesting ways to amuse myself. My favorite was ordering things that they didn’t have when I ate out. When the confused Japanese person struggled to explain that they didn’t have it I would simply reply ‘Its ok. I stayed at a Holliday Inn Express last night, and just saved 15% on my car insurance by switching to Geico.’ No one ever knew what I was talking about, but I laughed on the inside.

So as I approached a new height of weirdness I was fortunate enough to be able to stay with my friend Marielle in Tokyo. I headed out of Kyoto and stopped at Nagoya on the way to see the castle (predictable right?). Nagoya is another super modern city with a few cool sights, and a well planned transportation system. Word to the wise, if you want to find an easily navigable city in Japan look for a city that got the shit bombed out of it in WWII. When they rebuilt they did a MUCH better job at organizing things.

Anyways, I finally made it to Tokyo and to Marielle’s house. The Buccilli family was a godsend. A little slice of America in Japan was exactly what I needed to come home to, and get all my questions about the country answered. The food and drink wasn’t bad either!

My first stop during my last week was to Kamakura. Kamakura is the home to a giant outdoor Buddha, and some really pretty hiking. I decided to go on a hike around the mountains after being refused service by a very stern Japanese woman for reasons that remain unknown. The trail began with an epic staircase, and a very steep climb through a forest. As I huffed and puffed my way up the trail I felt a sense of pride and accomplishment in my little adventure. Then I began to see people. First a girl in 4 inch heels, then a group of about 30 senior citizens, and finally a family with toddlers. Watching them skip down the trail was a painful reminder of how out of shape, and NOT outdoorsy I am.

Along the way there were some pretty nature stuff, and a rather strange shrine. I’ll spare you the history, and skip ahead to the good part. People were washing their money there. And by washing I mean their paper Yen was soaked in water, and then held over burning incense to dry out and essentially bring good financial luck. Needless to say I kept my money in my wallet and took pictures of this bizarre act of faith.

Back in Tokyo I hit a few spots around the city. Museums, shrines, temples, and all that jazz. Stay tuned for pics. Aside from the underwhelming Tokyo National Museum, it was all very cool. But the best part of Tokyo is experiencing the culture and seeing how everyday life works. On this subject I learned quite a lot.

Lets begin with Japanese bathrooms. Bathrooms in Japan are strange. There was always an option between Japanese and Western style toilets. The Japanese style amounted to little more than a hole in the floor for you to squat over. While I’m sure this is very hygienic I skipped out on trying it because lets be honest, I would only squat like that in the woods. Western style toilets are just as cool as you would imagine. From the heated seats, to the noises they make I was very impressed. Alas, everything is in Japanese. I ended up terrified of pushing the wrong button and making a mess, and ended up timidly pressing random buttons to make it flush. Once you get to the sink to wash your hands things become even more puzzling. There are sinks, but that’s it. There is no soap, and no way to dry your hands (a fact that led to me awkwardly drying my hands on my pants all the time). I later learned that most Japanese people have their own towels, but the lack of soap still mystifies me.

Garbage cans are something you don’t appreciate until they are gone. The country has a weird lack of waste receptacles yet remains clean on a scale that satisfies even MY OCD. You thus end up carrying around your trash all day (lest you be the only person in the city littering) until you find a garbage can. On a similar cleanly note the Japanese have a wonderful tradition of removing your shoes before you enter someone’s house, temples, and some restaurants (something my mother would love as she and I are our family’s shoe cleaning Nazis). While my feet became cold rather quickly, my OCD and I deeply appreciated this tradition of cleanliness.

Anyone who has ever walked with me knows that I am a speed walker, and that crossing the street with me often requires blind faith that you won’t get run over. Japan wasn’t exactly conducive to my way of getting around. First, people don’t cross the street until their light is green. EVER. I’m sure everyone stared me at as I crossed the street on reds (which had no cars in sight), but my American lack of patience was having none of this senseless waiting. Japan’s population, as we all know, is an aging one. Old people are EVERYWHERE, and their hunchback hobbling does nothing to quicken the glacial pace at which most crowds move.

If I could make one serious critique of Japanese fashion I would tell the nation, “You all have black hair. Deal with it. Stop dying your hair. NO ONE IS BUYING IT.” I have never seen so many people with naturally black hair that is clearly dyed. I probably stared too much at the businessman on the metro with light purple hair, and I might have gawked at the women with orange/yellow hair but I literally could not stop looking. It was like a giant naked Sumo wrestler was standing in front of me. I didn’t necessarily want to look, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it! Aside from the dyed hair I was surprised to find that the 80’s style lion mane was making a comeback with guys. Their hair was HUGE, and I laughed a little (ok maybe a lot) on the inside whenever I saw the ridiculousness. Check out these links to get a sense of what I’m talking about.
• https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVHXzNwAEtW-07JldfyTseWThybJhz5kFu0raHgiAN1tAHgALhKNtofWPYLvipYqm1ZXCSym4WPaov0Up5bZsyWHUmBl_M7TfCwvQzc673ZDd7Lx_PRXdomDK4S7XwkE5Bagn5TbOkHZdf/s400/pr029.jpg
• http://backintheday.blogharbor.com/80s/images/childabuse.jpg

Another Japanese talent I did not understand was their ability to sleep on the metro. Every train seemed to be half full of sleeping people who somehow knew when to wake up and hop off at their stop. It was like being around animals that knew when a storm was coming while I sat there unaware that my stop was next. I finally did fall asleep once on the train, but my skills are not at the Japanese level. I jerked awake as my train was about to leave my stop, and sprinted up and out the door. I made it most of the way...

In DC when a metro door closes on you it generally pops back open. Not so in Tokyo. My foot got caught as I ran out of the train in a style that would have made Indiana Jones look away in shame. To say I face-planted in front of everyone who just got off the train and everyone still on the train is an understatement of epic proportions. With my iPod in one hand, a bag of touristy crap in the other, and my backpack on I was the epitome of ‘that annoying American tourist’ as I came crashing down. I was ready for the train to drag my bloody self down the platform to a horrible death when the conductor opened the door and gave me back my foot. I ran out of the platform mortified, and hoping that of the 35-39 million people in the greater Tokyo metropolitan area I would never see any of the people who witnessed my shame ever again. I later discovered I had smashed a lens filter on my camera. FML.

My last days in Tokyo were filled with some very Japanese experiences. I accompanied my friend to a tiny kimono shop to lend my valuable fashion advice in picking out one for Coming of Age Day (a Shinto holiday for people who recently turned 20). That night we went out for shabu shabu, which is essentially a meal in which you cook your own food in a pot of boiling water or sauce at your table. It was delicious, and I am now obsessed with it.

The next day Marielle got all dressed up in her incredibly complex and uncomfortable kimono for a special mass at her church to celebrate Coming of Age Day (she looked SO pretty). This was my first Catholic mass, and it was… interesting. To begin, the entire thing was in Japanese. So I basically sat there confused for an hour of singing, standing, sitting, standing again, and yet more sitting. Then a man behind me fell asleep and started snoring like a chainsaw. It was incredibly hard not to laugh, and I wanted to thrown a Bible at him to wake his ass up. When charity was collected a man in a Gretzky jersey was passing the dish around and I was even more confused. At the height of my awkwardness everyone suddenly got up and walked up to get blessed and get some kind of wafer thing. I obviously had no clue what was going on, and didn’t realize I was supposed to take a wafer. The priest must have figured out I wasn’t Catholic at about the moment when he tried to bless me by putting his hand on my hair and I was obviously having none of that (I really don’t like people messing up my hair… even for Jesus).

When the mass was over we got dinner with another family from Japan. The meal was great, but the best moment for me was obviously alcohol related. As the meal drew to a close I had sipped down a beer, four or five glasses of wine, and was sipping sambuca with the dads when the Japanese mother at the table said something to me in Japanese. Impressed with my lack of an Asian glow, she apparently said, “You are very strong with the drink.” This was by far the greatest thing any Japanese person said to me during my trip, and we all had a good laugh about Asian people’s glow after a drink or two.

I left the next morning for Hong Kong, and was sad to leave Japan (or the Empire of the Rising Sun as I prefer to call it). In America, for better or worse, we are a very diverse society. To define what makes someone ‘American’ one could spend a lifetime traveling and never truly come up with a unifying answer. Japan on the other hand is the exact opposite. While we can all agree that pretty much anyone can become American, almost no one in Japan believes that someone can become Japanese. The Japanese pride themselves on being one of the most homogenous peoples on Earth, and their sense of national culture and history is pretty much the same everywhere you go. As a person from the world’s big melting pot it was a very different and unique experience to see a country full of people who are all so culturally and socially consistent. While there are obviously downsides to such homogeneity, I enjoyed wandering around the country and experiencing the definite way of life that makes Japan… Japan.
P.S. The best place to find English speakers in Japan is at McDonald’s. I found this very ironic since McDonald’s is THE LAST place in America I would go to find people who speak English. And if you are expecting Japan to be overflowing with Hello Kitty you will be disappointed. Hello Kitty is not as big in Japan as it used to be. This fact upset me ☹.
P.P.S. As I end my time traveling alone I feel I should give a shout out to all the naysayers out there who seem to be convinced that traveling alone to a foreign country where you don’t speak the language is impossible. A lot of people said I was crazy to do this trip, but I don’t regret it for a second. To anyone who thinks they can’t do it you are 100% wrong. Taking a trip like this requires little more than common sense, a little planning, and confidence in yourself and the fact that in the end everything is going to be just fine. While group travel and cruises have their benefits, you will never get the same amount of satisfaction from doing it all on your own making your own way. Give crazy trips like this a shot. You will never regret it.