Now from atop the bridge, the vegetable stand is in the bottom-left corner. Nanasawa is prime for hot springs because of the surrounding mountains that suddenly end all hope of sprawl.

Another view of the same peaks.

Carved into the handrails are the picture-equivalent "sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G" schoolyard rhyme (yes, it's a tree and not a love parasol). Not mocking, though. Each side has a name and of course this pact with the gods guarantees you will forever be in love with one another. Or at least until next grade at the elementary school, which is practically forever.

The river that ran by. Not sure what the stones lining the side are intended for.

It's not often you find a bridge this size not crossing water.

Vegetables for your perusal on the left.

On the way into the steep, wooded hills of Nanasawa, there was an eye-catching house. The plant-arch was something to ponder, but then walking around the side...


Your initial reaction is probably no different than mine. Other than perhaps, "I have to take a picture of this!" I am unsure if the structure served any additional purpose (garage perhaps?), but it certainly stood out. No Amazing Grace played, however. Also, the bush has eyes.

Overdue

The following pictures are of Nanasawa, an area slightly northwest of my Atsugi home. If you'll recall, it was the first onsen I went to since my arrival in Japan a month ago.

This is a short distance from where I was let off the bus, the road forked and almost not in my favor until I found a map on the sidewalk to help orient myself.

The road on the left continues to cut through the area, whereas the one on the right begins to slowly spiral up the hill that the ryokan was built on.




The building off in the distance is a rehabilitation center - although somewhat of an eyesore, I'm sure that the area was chosen to encourage people to get out and do some walking. Hot springs are supposedly therapeutic because of water temperature and mineral contents, as well.

The foreground is a small garden, many of which offered roadside vegetables for the casual passer-by. Nobody was around, but a sign asked you to leave a hundred yen in the cup if interested.

The Shinto shrine along the dirt road up the hill.
There weren't many people around - just a few cars going by.

A little further along, there was a small creek with an outdoor "restaurant" that was manned by an older guy. I'm not sure what to call it really, a roof over a grill with some cookable meat inside. He was offering a cheap lunch to anyone who happened to be coming or going to the onsen since there certainly wasn't any other tourist attraction around.

There was some 1 liter vending-machine sake left out for the gods - I'm glad at least someone is thinking of them.



Mostly everyone living in this area was tending a farm. While there are some shacks in the pictures, to my knowledge they aren't living quarters; the real homes appeared normally modern from the outside.


Oh yes, this entire area is after I walked past the entrance to the ryokan. I was happy to have done so, though, because the area here was much more open. One could see a cemetery built into the side of the hill to the right, and some strikingly purple and pink wildflowers breaking out from the wall of green.

Of course, even here wasn't rural enough to escape the likes of beverage vending machines.

(I've got more to show, but this manual entry of photos is a real pain for the time being; instead of being stubborn about it, I'll find a better way to upload these with captions. I wonder how Picasa's doing these days?)

Green Dream

I'd love to talk all about my latest trip, but I'm somewhat backlogged from before. Since I haven't prepared all the pictures nor typed up anything about Izu yet, I'll just fill you in on some of the other neat places I've been by the past few weekends.

First there was Kichijouji, the number one place that young people wish to move to. As soon as I stepped out from the train station I could understand why: bustling shopping district, but mostly small alley stuff - there wasn't too much domination by popular chains (at least from the route I took). The whole area feels as if it's trapped in a different period of time. Never before around Tokyo have I seen so many trees and walking pathsm, either. In fact, much of the area under leaf-cover is off limits to bicycles.

As for parks, there is a very large and well populated one a short walk from the station. It is packed with sidewalk merchants, musicians, young lovers, people walking their pets, and a good number of gaijin as well. The area is massive, encompassing a pond where you can rent a row-boat or swanly paddle-boat if you want to have some alone time. Thankfully, that isn't the only way to just sit in peace - the park is lined with benches (in Japan there is rarely a place to simply sit and rest, you see). Although the cherry blossoms won't be showing themselves for another six months, it wasn't stopping bands of people from laying out on tarps and making merry with their beer and wine.

One of the musicians. I don't recall the name of the instrument, but it was certainly impressive how fast he could play it. He mainly did themes from various anime that any Japanese person would recognize (eg. Tonari no Totoro).

Swan boat.

An artist doing characterized portraits. Looked as if she stepped out of a disco and into a time portal. Her style and coloring changed for each set of people she drew, although you may see on the faces of the girl to the right that she takes her sweet time (maybe 30 minutes if I recall correctly).

To the right of my bench.

Speaking of Totoro, the reason this place seems like a fantasy land is mostly due to the Studio Ghibli Museum also being located nearby. I know that they aggressively defend against development of the nearby environment. I'll have to get a ticket sometime.

That's about it, I had a good beer and a good chat. Was able to try out some exotic Okinawan food before taking the train home. Among the more unique and rememberable dishes I was served: pig ear, raw horse sashimi, and a variety of special awamori (like umeshuu). If you're one to dislike food because of an odd texture (more specifically crunchy cartilage), pass on the pig. The horse meat was incredible, though.

That should do for now, more to come as always.

My Salvation

<sup>In the beginning, Gore created the Internets and the Web. The Web didn't have any shape. And it was empty. Nothingness occupied the series of tubes. At that time, the tubes covered the earth. The Spirit of Gore was hovering over the fiber.

Gore said, "Let there be light." And there was light. Gore saw that the light was good. He separated the light from the darkness. Gore called the light "on." He called the darkness "off." There was true, and there was false. It was day one.</sup>

Too Hot for TV

This past weekend was a lovely, relaxing time. Spanning from Friday to an extra-bonus Monday, it included the national holiday, "Respect for the Aged Day". I think I'll talk about that first because it was most recent and there are more details to cover. I woke up Monday with the intent of getting out into the wilderness, ideally somewhere with an onsen and a nice mountain view. I had been meaning to visit the Izu peninsula this weekend, but it wasn't in the cards (and next weekend also has a Monday off, so no real loss). It was good to stay out of Tokyo for a weekend, I'm sure my wallet and liver both agree with the decision.

Waking up at 8 or 9, I went ahead with the plan I had conceived the night before: after picking up some pamphlets about nearby onsen at the train station, I chose the one named "Koutakuji" (広沢寺) for its uniqueness and shockingly reasonable price for lunch. It also seemed to be more off the beaten path, but the map I had wasn't topological or even to scale, so who could really say. I took my bike to the train station and, after accidentally parking it in a place reserved for scooters, got on the number 9 bus designated by the guidemap.

30 minutes and 350 yen later, I was off the bus. There had been a little confusion since the map had shown a bus stop existing right in front of the Koutakuji onsen, but the bus only went as far as a place labeled "Koutakuji iriguchi". The walk didn't seem too far by map, but of course this initial assumption wasn't aware that the trek would be entirely uphill. I was glad to be wandering around the tree-spiked, mountainous countryside and happier still that I had my camera with me.

This is one reason I usually prefer traveling alone: I can do everything at my own pace. Walking, taking pictures, practicing Japanese, getting lost, stumbling upon the unexpected - it's all part of the experience. When others are with you, whether family, friends, or near-strangers, the delicate act of balancing what everyone wants or doesn't want can be more trouble than the trip itself. This isn't to say that I can't enjoy travel with friends, but to really have an adventure - to get out and genuinely explore something - there's no better company than your own thoughts.

The green route I was hiking also had the occasional farming house, area for garbage pick-up, and (of course) vending machine. I'll be sure to upload the pictures when I the chance. It took maybe half an hour to arrive at my destination, five minutes to walk past it, and another five to walk back. The onsen belongs to a ryokan, a traditional Japanese inn with supposedly impeccable service and food. I wouldn't know because they're usually outside of my budget; for instance, the map I had named about 10 of them and I would put the mean price at around 12,000 yen or about $100 per person per night.

Once inside the main building, I was able to rent a towel and buy a long washcloth (makes for a good souvenir!). Since I wasn't staying with them, I could still use the onsen, but for a fee. I also asked about the lunch I had seen mentioned, but was told since there "were no rooms available, I could instead order some food from the menu outside." I would have been content to take lunch in laundry room if they had only offered. I'm still unsure if I would have been able to do it if they weren't full, though. A lunch reservation, perhaps? Unfortunately, the listing outside was small and mostly consisted of various deep fried dishes (not so appealing on a hot day after getting out of a hot spring). There was one exception: cold soba noodles. I made a mental note and ducked into the men's entrance of the onsen.

Whenever I read the word rotenburo, I think of openness. The word literally means "open air bath." I imagine the body reaching an ideal calm between hot water and cool air thanks to a nice breeze. These are examples of what I'm picturing in my mind: 1, 2, 3. The bath I entered was far from these expectations, sadly. While the water still served to relax, it seemed as if the spring was hastily claimed by building all around it. The openness of the onsen was entirely compromised by the four tall walls surrounding it. Consequentially, that cool breeze was also hard to come by. Here's a picture of what the bath looked like (complete with old men, so it's just like the real thing!), the entrance to the ryokan, and map in relation to Atsugi.

The general protocol after entering is to get naked, set your clothes on the shelf provided, properly wash your body, then enter the pool. I witnessed some variation on this, however, with some people merely scooping from the spring with a basin, splashing some on their smelly feet/balls, and calling it good before getting in. This seems akin to the ritual cleansing of your hands at shrines with cold water, and the equally ritual - and equally ineffectual! - cleansing of your hands after going to the bathroom (also usually with cold water). Oh well, at least it was a kind gesture. It was Respect for the Aged Day, after all.

Speaking of age, there was a good distribution. I certainly wasn't the oldest, and thanks to some kids that came in with their dad, not the youngest. The onsen wasn't particularly roomy, and so there was a lot of strategic re-positioning going on. I gave up a prime spot, the rock-with-water-running-down-the-side, to try and enter a different area that was marked with kanji for "cold water" to try something else, but was betrayed to find it was the same temperature after all. All was not lost, however - I was able to get my chest and knees out of the water for a while by sitting on a tile ledge instead of a less comfortable rock. There isn't much talking except between the occasional father/son (I wouldn't expect younger Japanese guys to relax with their friends, just as I certainly wouldn't invite any co-workers along), so the whole scene becomes this strange, slow, silent ceremony.

I'd love to talk more about bathing nude with strangers, but I've really got to go - my ass is starting to hurt from sitting in this chair so long. Today's work day has been from 10am to 8pm with some breaks of course, but a good number of Japanese guys here have been in since earlier and I guarantee will be leaving much later. More on workaholics later.

And it's suddenly Friday again

I think I will try to pass along some quick, random observations and thoughts I've had lately. It should be fun.

Elevator culture. Usually, the ride is deathly quiet. Sometimes people will be joking around or merely discussing work, but usually not in a normally loud voice. The elevators here operate more manually than in the US; this means the open/close buttons are much more responsive and they get used a lot. One person will usually take it upon themselves to operate the doors. When the elevator stops for a floor, even for one person, the operator will likely push the close button after they've stepped on or off to get moving along faster than if the elevator doors had waited and then shut. It also looks like when you hold the open button - even for one person - you will always get a slight nod of appreciation from them, even though the elevator's wait time would have been sufficient for them to exit.

Fashion. Much like in the US, there seems to be a trend in what I'd call "fake" shirts. The US specializes in selling shirts that have fake names, establishments, or dates; sometimes for the purpose of being clever with puns, but more often to appear retro (eg. "Tiki Bob's 3rd annual Surf-off 1978"). Chances are, the person wearing the shirt wasn't even conceived then, and it certainly didn't take 30 years to ship the shirt from the sweatshop in China. Japan has something similar, but the goal isn't to be retro as much as it is to bemuddle any native speakers of the language the shirt has printed on it. English was the traditional target of this unintentional butchering (hence becoming what we know as "Engrish"). Lately there has been a big surge in French, and I wouldn't bet on it being any more intelligible. If I were to type it out, you still wouldn't believe me, so I recommend searching around for "engrish" - you won't be disappointed.

Also in the fashion department, you can get away with wearing anything in public. Maybe it's a reflex from the dullness of wearing school or work uniforms for so long, but I'm happy to see such a variety of style whenever I'm strolling Tokyo. No, this isn't about cosplay, but that certainly qualifies - people just tend to be a lot more daring to push the limit of what's wearable. It could be that nobody would dare to bring it up if they thought it was goofy - not in public, not by a stranger. So what's there to lose? Strike a pose.

Speaking of this, last weekend my eyes caught a rare sight near the train station: a group of maybe 8 Japanese males donning knee-length sports jerseys, equally baggy jeans, sporting backwards ball caps and large metal chains. I had to stop my bike and stare just to make sure I wasn't just hallucinating (hey, it happens now and then). Even though I carry my camera around with me at all times, I'm not to keen on snapping shots of others, even if they're in public - especially if the intent is to post the pictures online. Sorry, I hope the description will suffice. What's strangest to me is just where they found the clothing. I know that American culture (and subsequently, clothing) is a big import here, but I don't recall noticing any FUBU stores. Yet, if there's a niche to fill, someone, somewhere will do it.

Completely unrelated: I was in the bathroom at work and music was playing overhead. I couldn't figure it out right away because, much like the karaoke, it's a simpler rendition of the original score by some poor, deaf bastard they gave a job and keyboard to out of pity. Then it dawned on me, and the toilet was suddenly a sadder and lonelier place than normal. As it turned out, the tune was "Amazing Grace" and I spent the next minute wondering if I'd actually heard that song played outside of a funeral before. I didn't stick around long enough to hear if there was another track or if it would keep looping.

Get it out of my head

Friday after work, a group of us went out to Shinjuku for a birthday party. The venue was another izakaya, this one named "Toridori." Being the responsible adults we are, we made a reservation and printed a map prior. After walking from the station and asking to be seated, both the host and us were naturally confused when our name wasn't found on the list. Being the irresponsible kids we are, apparently the restaurant we were standing in wasn't the only one in the area. The host was kind enough to call around and find the correct one, and after printing a map for us, we headed outside once more. Now would be a good time to explain a bit about the Japanese idea of city planning: there is none. Tokyo is of course even more complicated than the rest.

What we would call "Tokyo" is composed of 23 wards, 26 smaller cities, 5 towns, and 8 villages; it was of course not originally the sprawling megalopolis it is today. After the destruction from WWII, the area was once again composed of small towns and villages centered around their core market areas. These areas were small and familiar enough for the residents and they had no need to name the streets. Things have developed since then, and what you see now is an endless sprawl of some of the ugliest buildings ever built. Interestingly, the geographical location of buildings isn't sufficient to navigate, either. In other parts of the world, they are sequentially numbered as the street goes on, but here the numbers correspond to the order in which they were constructed. So #100 could be right next to #7, with #101 much further beyond both. Luckily, none of this impedes me since I have no capacity for rote name or number memorization, anyhow - I manage to function mostly by landmarks or other mnemonics, both here and back there.

Even carrying a map with your destination clearly marked on it does not an easy trip make. Tokyo is so dense, so tall, so absolutely packed with lights, signs, and sounds that it is often a challenge to focus your attention and scan an area. I can't explain why, but I have some sort of knack for cutting through the surroundings here - probably because I have only so much attention to focus. Anyhow, we made it in time to get our reserved seats. This izakaya was a bit more fanciful than the last, although well-hidden from view - we had to descend about 4 stories from street-level. After barely fitting our over-sized shoes into the lockers, our socks could meet the dark, stained wooden floor. Behind a thin wall, our table was at floor-level and we stepped down one last time into our seats. The low lighting and elegant wall decor assured the food and drink offered would be a step up.

As the night progressed, we visited a club and, waiting for the morning train, spent some time at karaoke. I think I much prefer the singing than the dancing, even though it's what I'm worse at. The others may have a different opinion, although I was flattered to receive the request to rap Eminem's "Without Me." There really is no rhyme or reason to what English songs will be in store for you when you crack open one of those large volumes in the booth. You can always bet on finding a lot of Queen, Michael Jackson, Madonna, and The Beatles, your standard 1-hit-wonders, and a good mix of anything from "Piano Man" to "Barbie Girl" (yes, we've done both). The standard is 2 microphones, and occasionally you'll have the good luck to come across a tambourine or two. Not surprisingly, country music hasn't quite caught on here.

Weekends such as this have been a killer for my wallet, however, and in spite of diligently keeping track of my budget, I tend to carry enough money around to break it all at once. This usually isn't a problem, though, as I've never been one to throw my money out the window (hm?) nor do I spend my weekdays enjoying the same luxury. Often I treat (or torture) myself with self-made dinner, the most commonly consumed items being rice, curry, soba noodles, garlic bread, nikuman, and the supermarket meat I hope I'm translating properly. I had been ignoring breakfast out of habit, but lately I've been sleeping in too much; with the groceries I picked up this Saturday, I will hopefully be able to bribe myself out of bed earlier. The scrambled eggs with negi, soy, and pepper this morning were shockingly delicious.

Speaking of negi, I find that whenever I'm in a grocery store here, I will always spot someone with a giant leek in their basket. Consequentially, by the time I exit, a certain Finnish folk song is stuck in my head. This should serve to explain: www.leekspin.com.

There's always more to write, but I think for now I will leave it at that, lest I run out of things for the remaining weekdays.

キノの頼み

Due to circumstances beyond my control, (more commonly referred to as GNU/Linux or the end-user virus) I once again found myself unable to move my pre-written post to USB stick this morning. It probably has something to do with the power going out the night before, but the details aren't important.. it just didn't work for me. I'll hope to get you that by tomorrow; in the meantime, what can I say?

It's 9/10 here, soon to be 9/11. It's sad to want to avoid talking about something because of how political it has become. I was attempting to compare with something Japanese: all I could come up with were the Sarin Gas Attacks and the Atom Bombings, two very different incidents, but both have relations to ours. The first was indeed a terrorist attack, but done by Japanese to Japanese. Only a dozen people died as a result, but if you mention "terrorism", this is what people will think of. It was as domestic as they come, right in the heart of a major city. You can see signs on trains asking you to immediately notify the conductor of any suspicious items or people. Thankfully, I haven't had the finger pointed at me, but it makes you wonder why. If the Aum Shinrikyo perpetrators had been foreigners like me, would things be different?

I doubt anyone would have guessed that six decades after unleashing two horrifying atomic weapons on largely civilian targets, the descendants of those civilians would be embracing American culture the way they do now. Will we, by 9/11/2061, be happily submerged in Saudi Arabian fare? Doubtful. It just goes to show how pervasive our creativity actually is. Even after a hundred thousand civilian casualties, though, the Japanese have been good enough not to hold the grudge this long. I have never had anyone here bring up WWII as if I had a part in it or should share the responsibility for America's actions during it, and for that I'm quite thankful. Time doesn't erase the past, but it can surely calm and heal - if we want it to.

In that same light, I wouldn't want the people visiting my country hoping to explore the culture and meet new friends to wind up having the same finger directing suspicion at them. This won't happen by itself, though. Every time we let a moment of silence be used as a Two-Minutes Hate, our inaction is merely condoning the xenophobia. My only hope is that people could remind one another to open their minds up and try placing themselves in the shoes of foreign visitors. If anything, they most likely need your help, not your scrutiny - believe me, it would make things a lot easier if we didn't have to carry the anxiety on top of our baggage.

Rains, pours

It's Thursday evening and the day has only begun to get interesting! The raw power and awe of nature never fails to humble my thoughts. My expectations were to feel the storm this morning, and when it was only pouring I knew the weather report was slightly off. At work, sudden winds and rain would come and go, but nothing to keep us from heading outside and buying lunch as usual. Later, however, as I was about to head out to the city hall and pick up my alien registration card, things had become much more fierce as I approached the exit near my bike. There are two sets of doors, and as soon as the outer pair had been opened, a rush of wind immediately slammed the inner two shut. Attempts to open them from inside were met with failure until the outer doors had closed again.

Stepping out, I saw rain, but instead of falling down, it was being blown at an acute, near-horizontal angle. Every single person I saw with an umbrella (as is the fashion here, everyone will carry one for rain) was struggling to hold on to it, nevermind that the howling wind had already inverted and made it useless. At this sight, I quickly turned back inside wearing a giant grin on my face - already late to leave, my quest to make it halfway across town on a shit bike in this weather would not only be futile.. I'd be surely killed. My hand-me-down and personal death-trap is a testament to human stubbornness: boasting a rusted chain that has a habit of slipping off at intersections and a front brake that is outperformed by the Flintstonian method of hastily dragging my feet on the ground or nearby objects, it's a miracle I make it alive anywhere in optimal conditions. But hey, I can't complain about the price.

Deciding that tonight wouldn't be the most desirable for death, but not wanting to wake up under my desk tomorrow, I compromised to go home by foot. Always hoping to outdo the Japanese and simultaneously defy their wind-gods, I grabbed my loaner umbrella before heading outside. The trick to keeping an umbrella open in gale-force winds is to firstly remain unafraid of looking like a complete jackass. After all, you are doing something incredibly stupid and by no means trying to hide it - the fact you are a foreigner compounds the absurdity of your situation. Should you fail, it will be remembered by people who live to be 90 years old on average, and they will have a lot of time to tell everyone they know how much of an idiot gaijin you were. The next and final step is to simply walk home with the umbrella. Since you have already conquered yourself, this other task is trivial in comparison.

Friday has just arrived and brought the typhoon with it. According to the weather report I saw earlier, we only experienced the outer, yellow circle.. today will be the red. It's curious, the kanji used alongside the yellow meant "strong" but I've never seen the kanji used alongside the red. My guess is that since it wasn't a big skull, things will be alright. Then again, it could be one of those classical kanji that the Japanese know and foreigners are largely unaware of, ensuring our mass cleansing. Either way, I wonder whether or not my bike will be in the same spot I left it. All I can ask is that nothing freaky happens after crawling into bed - the last thing I want to experience is a sleepless night before going to work and later to Tokyo for another sleepless night. Then again, I'd settle for just waking up not covered in water or broken glass.

Update since I wrote this: I woke up alive (and without even a shard of glass in me). Just some strong wind today and that's all. Off to Tokyo~

大糞

There was a sudden layer of cloud cover and heavy rain for all of 5 minutes earlier today. It was impossible to distinguish anything beyond the windows, but it wasn't particularly violent. In case you haven't been keeping up on Japanese weather reports recently, Typhoon Fitow will be coming to a town near me. Almost directly over, if it stays on course with that map. Should make for an interesting tomorrow. I'll let you know how it goes and whether or not you should send supplies.

American flag beach tarp

This weekend wasn't as busy as the last, thankfully. It's been nice to ease into things here rather than play it hard-and-fast all the time. Going back to last weekend, I was able to visit two beaches on the East coast of Japan. I was with two people from work and we met up with one of their (always helpful) fluent female friends. The four of us were having a good time chatting on the slower local trains that service the more out-of-the-way destinations, but we overshot our stop as a result. I really didn't mind so much, learning about Japanese driving schools is uniquely interesting (apparently the mandatory classes are expensive yet not extensive - mostly done on a closed course). While waiting for the next train in the other direction, we wandered around the quiet, little community near the station where the shops are open but unattended. Once you walk in and start browsing around, someone will poke their head in and ask if they can help. There wasn't much for us there and we were back on the train soon enough.

The first beach we met was a quick taxi ride away from Oohara station. To our surprise, it was packed with Japanese surfer-types: a breed I hadn't seen at all before. Most of them were sporting tattoos, even the women, which is so uncommon, our native said the inked beach-bums gave off a real frightening appearance. The relation is that yakuza (Japanese gangsters) normally fit themselves with full-body tattoos that are often completely hidden beneath long sleeves and pants, and tattoos have had a negative association in Japanese culture from long before. Now, though, it seemed pretty standard for anyone wishing to be a part of this subculture which spanned from surfing to dirt biking to skateboarding. In fact, the entire beach seemed dominated by this crowd for some sort of surfing competition that would later turn dance party.

We never stayed to watch it unfold. The surfers must have been disappointed because there was so little wave action it seemed like they were just kids in a pool floating around on foam body-boards. In addition, after swimming in the sea water for a bit, the skin near my elbow and knee joints became slightly red and irritated. At first, I thought this was due to my long time away from salt water and later wondered if it had to do with our proximity to the pollution of Tokyo Bay. Unlike the burning of salt water when it makes its way into your eye, this wasn't an expected sensation, so I decided to get out of there before turning into a walking rash. Not satisfied with our short-lived swimming session, we headed back to the station for another destination after a quick lunch and bathroom break. The hiyashi (seasonal food, cold noodles with hard-boiled eggs, cucumbers, ginger, etc.) was as delicious as I remember it and the public bathrooms just as disgusting.

The other town, Onjuku, was more of a tourist spot, but also boasted a better beach. The beautiful little town carved into the steep shore off in the distance was more appealing than the poured concrete flanking either end of the last place. The waves were not much better, but swimming was still enjoyable now that our bodies no longer felt as if they were slowly disintegrating. Here, you could rent inflatable dolphins or inner-tubes and while it may not have been the exact sea-side experience the others were hoping for, the atmosphere here seemed much more natural and fun. We were able to stick around until "closing" when (no surprise) music began playing and the beach patrol started to coax people back to land. It was great to get out and do something physical like swimming or hitting a volleyball around. The many hours it took to travel there and back weren't squandered like I might consider a commute to work by car; being in a train, you have the luxury of enjoying the scenery you pass through, conversing with your company, or - if you were as exhausted as I felt - simply sleeping.

Looking back, except for some minor subtleties, things at the beach were the same here as in the States. I think more people here were interested in eating/drinking. Many had tents and portable barbeque grills, while a another few were content to just sit with a group of friends around a cooler-full of cheap beer. In addition, there were restaurants eager to serve up and down the coastline just in case you hadn't brought anything. Beyond the realm of food (which is always of utmost importance in Japan), things seemed simple and natural in that most swimmers were content with just their bathing suits and weren't using snorkels, goggles, or even the rental offerings much. Less of the beaches were carved out specifically for sports, but a few people were kicking around a soccer ball in the sand behind the common seating.

My body suffered no long-term damage from the water, but did get two scoops of love from that ball of fire in the sky. With skin ranging from white to brown to red, I have become a giant walking slab of Neapolitan ice cream. No, you can't have a bite.

And now you're going to read about my laundry

I had composed a post earlier this morning about the beach trip, but due to technical difficulties compounded by a pounding on my door saying, "let's go!", it remains stranded on my laptop. Oh well, I try to make these posts modular and unassuming so that chronology doesn't play in, but we'll see how that works out over time.

I had the good fortune of receiving the keys to the apartment of an employee who had recently left along with the go-ahead to take whatever I could use. It's an irregular opportunity to go through someone else's stuff, especially if you haven't known them much at all; being the opportunist I am, I didn't hesitate to have a look around. How much can you tell (or pretend to understand because after all, you're just guessing without much context and going along with some pre-conceived notions) about a person by rummaging through their unwanted belongings? I don't wish to expand beyond that, but here's a random sample of stuff left behind that isn't part of the standard welcoming package:

hand weights
beer bong (labeled "zero" to "hero")
enormous stash of sugar
full pack of menthol cigarettes
paperback copy of sci-fi classic Neuromancer
Taiko drum-master game and accessories for Playstation 2

..and I'm sure half of what was lying around was from the person before him. There's only so much worth shipping halfway around the world.

The most important of the items I found were hangers. I had decided to do all of the laundry and cleaning I put off from last weekend, but this proved to be quite the chore since my clothes are voluminous and the washing machines are anything but. It took 3 machines (unfortunately placed on two separate floors) to do my hamper-full. Attempting to figure out the kanji printed all over the buttons and LEDs on the machine isn't as easy as copy/paste, so I went with the defaults - there's actually a setting that translates to something like "trust me", and has a picture of a smiling washing machine on it. Feeling the computer knew more about the machine than I could, away we went. I watched as it poured about a careful 0.23658 liters (approximately one cup) of water into the base and then began to shake around my dry, stinky clothes and the one wet shirt on top.

I thankfully spotted the "more water" button and, after mashing it until my finger was imprinted with braille, the clothes were respectably soaked and primed for gyration. Although the other washing machines were different models, they still had near-identical layouts. The machines also have dryers fitted over the base at eye-level, but I have long since known them to be inadequate. Holding up a sock and blowing on it would be just as effective. Luckily, there are handy house-wares specifically for this purpose (holding the sock, that is). Think of a matrix of clothes-pins suspended upside down such that you could clip a sock to each one, or even towels, jeans, or underwear with two! I would tell you what it's called, but I didn't have to look up the name in a dictionary before finding it in a store - it naturally catches your eye sitting on a shelf.

This contraption, combined with all of the hangers looted from earlier, allowed me to simultaneously suspend all of my clothing from the line outside my sliding-glass windoor. Of course, I can't see outside any longer, but I'd much rather appear and smell respectable; besides, this way the sun can't wake me up at 5am when I forget to shut the blinds before hitting the sack. This morning, I was pleasantly surprised to find the majority of the shirts already dry and ready to go - maybe I will temporarily re-locate my closet to the clothes-line (being male and on the 2nd floor, I don't have to worry about my underwear not being there when I need it). I can only hope that it won't rain anytime soon.