The Other Snack Shop

There's no such thing as promiscuity, unless you're paying for it. Most men and women in Japan adhere to a committed relationship. I've been told this commitment is more of an ethereal value than it is a corporeal practice. 

If history has set any sort of standard, Japanese men were once considered polygamous, hosting an assortment of wives in various homes around the area in which they made their livelihood. Men would stay at the various homes for a certain period of time, making the "rounds" if you will. 

Today, it is still common for many married couples to have separate homes from one another if, for example, the husband works in a different city than he lives. I guess, absence makes the heart stand still in this case. 

If her husband isn't home, I know exactly where he is: snack shop. This is a type of bar where the drinks are expensive and come with female companionship. And, I have the fortunate pleasure of witnessing firsthand the wicked underbelly of Akashi nightlife on Snack Shop Street. Coincidentally, this is my street! Yippie! 

About 50 ft from my apartment building, I begin to see the scatter of lingering men in black suits on my walk home from work. They stand around, cigarette dangling from their mouths, waiting for the next sloshed crew of businessmen to walk by so that they can solicit to them their ladies in waiting. I am able to observe, night after night, the interactions between the black-suited pimps and bevies of boozed up married men trampling through my street with slurs and slangs that I haven't the faintest clue. I hear them out my window now, singing jolly tunes like drunken sailors with women resembling baby dolls yelling at them from the door steps of the snack shop.  

Snack shops could be considered the upscale equivalent of a brothel. And, for pimps, the most straight-laced stint in the world. Or, maybe it's all just the huggermugger Japanese version where the sale of sex isn't laid out on the bar, rather served as a covert cocktail with a side of privy pussy. 

Dig Deep #5: Territorial

Whenever I see another foreigner on the street, I always do a double take and think to myself, "What are you doing here?" They are probably thinking the same thing about me. 

It does bridge the gap between East and West for about 2 seconds.

This Way to Monkey Mountain

Anticipating a day full of shrine-seeing and absorbing traditional Japanese culture, I was surprised when my friend suggested we visit Arashiyama, an area of Kyoto that has an ever-popular monkey mountain! For only 500 yen (approx $5), you are a mere hike away from furry primate paradise!
The sinuous and steep terrain through the mountainside led us directly to an enclave of Japanese macaques that are more than used to the curious human visitor. Unprepared for a hike, the weight of my backpack, my lack of water and my sandals were no help. Nonetheless, that looming vision of me and monkey, as one, propelled me up the hill and on into a matted fur fairyland. 
And there they were, just as promising as the pictures portrayed. At first glance, I felt an eerie stillness, and at any moment, my hike to monkey heaven would turn into Hitchcock's sequel to The Birds: The Monkeys. They perched on a rusted shanty rooftop and the rest remained staggered around a dusty courtyard, motionless for the most part. And then, for a brief moment, I looked beyond the swell of our primitive counterparts and took in the view. A gorgeously framed Kyoto situated in a basin encircled by bounteous green hillsides. It now seemed like such a peaceful place. 
On the cusp of spring, we had the pleasure of finding babies clinging to their mother's and also feeding. 
One of them looked at me! 
We have learned much from our mammalian dopplegangers. For example, the photo below best resembles the earliest form of dentistry. I later saw a sign advertising for "oral implantology". With a botched effort to describe some sort or orthodontics, we may not have come far from this primitive point. 
Why walk when you can slide! The cherry on top of a wonderfully fulfilling encounter with my newfound macaques friends was the slide you could take down the mountain to begin the descending hike back to a human-only populated zone. 
And with a smile, I slid back down to see some shrines. I knew, no matter how spectacular, Monkey Mountain would always provide the most memorable Kyoto. At least until my next visit.

Dig Deep #4: Thug Life

I was listening to "Cradle to the Grave" this morning on my way to work. I find laughable irony in listening to rap or hip hop music in a country that probably has no idea what a ghetto is and has never seen anything even remotely close to it.

Here is my ghetto. It's swell. 

Class with a capital A

Double take: this is Japan. However, I am consciously drawn to this bridge every day on my morning runs because of it's similarities to the beloved Bay Bridge--represent. 

The Nishi-Akashi Bridge is known as the longest suspension bridge in the world, linking the main island of Japan to Awaji Island, which is a smaller island due south. That's about all I can comment on that for the time being. 

oh. wait...

There is a taco ferry that runs from Akashi port to Awaji. And not that kind of taco (I wish. I would give my left tit for some Mexican food right about now). Taco is Japanese for octopus and one of Akashi's most prized seafaring friends that serves not only as a fisherman's catch of the day, but also as one of many mascots of the Akashi area. 
This is Okura beach and the park adjacent. It runs parallel to what looks like man-made rock formations that locals love to scour for seashells and clams. 
Akashi Park is across town and offers a tranquil and scenic green-lit path home from the JR Akashi Station.
And come on, this hits too close to home. A little boy who brings his bunny to the park? I was nearly brought to tears of joy until the little brat kicked ol' Floppy. Then, I just wanted to deploy a rescue team of a nearby squirrel and myself to go in for attack of the inhumane bunny boy. 
Senior moments are many and there is never a dearth of seating. 
This is Akashi castle, a small remains of a castle that was constructed at the beginning of the 17th century. The town had originally been constructed around the castle and romantic views of this time period and location can be read in ancient Japanese poems and literature, such as The Tale of Genji.
I am enjoying the sweet subtleties of suburban living. 
Here she is in all her splendor. At least downtown. There are many unexplored spots by yours truly in the city, but this is probably the only place for some city-like action. 
Train station--my friend from Oakland pointed out how much it looks like MacArthur BART. 

And in a teeny tiny nutshell, this is Akashi. I describe it as the classy Oakland of the Far East. With Kobe (SF) in an arms reach, a neighborly feel and a glorious suspension bridge, my new home doesn't feel so far from home. 

Time is the Master

I'm living in a country where "on time" is considered late. And late isn't even considered an option. At first, I just thought it was something they told us at my company's headquarters to scare us into submission, but I've come to realize that everyone's watch is set 15 minutes ahead. Good thing I don't wear one. 

Every day, at ten til the hour and on the hour, little chimes sanction the end of one class and the beginning of another. The melody is only on a 10 or 15 second loop, and albeit, aurally pleasing. However, I often get the feeling that it's darling little chirps are sinister baby clowns mocking my every move.

 Like clockwork, I've fallen into this pattern of living my life in 50 minute increments. I literally plan everything I need to do to the minute or else that sweet little chime will go off and who knows, maybe I will end up freezing up like a malfunctioning robot and spontaneously combust. I guess as long as it's in between class...

Time truly is the master, but when is it not? My photography teacher told me "true artists don't wear watches." I haven't worn a watch since hearing those words (from my former pregnant lesbian teacher who had an affair with one of my high school classmates and decided to photograph the encounter and leave the negatives in the darkroom). Am I more of an artiste, or maybe just a little artier? I sure hope so (sarcasm). Either way, I'm perpetually bound by the constructs of time, even if I choose to live clock-free, only watching the rise and fall of the sun and moon like a goddamn hippie or someone who decides to live on an Indian reservation (another throwback to a high school teacher).

Truth be told, the majority of this post was for humor's sake. I am perfectly content with my time constructed (and constricted) life. 

I did have a sadistic vision of lighting that little chime clock on fire and laughing while ritualistically dancing around it in the lobby this morning. Laughing right in its round little face. 

The Romaniac has Landed

I've been told there are three types of foreign guys who come to Japan: 

1. The ones who are obsessed with Anime 

2. The ones who are obsessed with being Japanese  

     and 

3. The ones who are more than obsessed with Japanese women. 

My friend just arrived in Tokyo and found himself a piece of prime real estate in Shibuya, which is one of the best fashion districts in the country. 

He would also fall under the category of #3 with a potentially unhealthy obsession for Japanese women. I'm sure he'll be OK for the moment, but I'll update if any legal trouble ensues...ha!

His latest project, which I give full props to for creativity and ingenuity, is called Street Fashion Project. He poses as a amateur photographer and has hot girls (which are a dime a dozen nationwide) pose for him, displaying the most fashion forward sense of Nihon style. He gets a number or two to boot. 

He's done quite well for himself:

The photos aren't bad either.

For more, check out:

Street Fashion Project

Coincidentally, I taught one of my Japanese students the term "man whore" today. 

Dig Deep #3: Lube Sheep

This is my lunch tupperware. They are as small as they seem. They are also made by a company called Lube Sheep. Engurish or Freudian slip, take your pick. 

My name is Rinda. I love the white cake and sweet cherries. Yummy, yummy. 

I love the white cake too, Rinda. With stawberries on top. 
My name is Bobbin. I like to play outside. Hmm, what should I play today?

These are my lunchtime companions. And sadly enough, my only lunchtime companions. If you don't count the snapping turtles and oversized goldfish I feed crumbs to at the lake. 

Dig Deep #2: Pantry Schmantry

There is what I would consider the Whole Foods of Akashi across from my office. We call this The Pantry--exceedingly malapropos. Yippie San Franciscans and smug organic vegetable zealots are replaced by android-esque housewives and retirees. They don't even blink as they rummage through astronomically over-priced produce. There are these benumbing remixes of classic Western music playing, almost like it's sending shoppers into a trance where $11 for a bushel of grapes wont thwart any attempt to make it to the register with a full basket. Do they not know the 100 yen shop (dollar store) across the street offers the same items at a predictably lower price? This could be depressing depending on how you look at it. I just want the Muzak to stop. Louis Armstrong would wake up in his grave, appalled. 

Dig Deep #1: 100 Calories My Ass...

It seems like all packaged food in Japan comes in little, 100 calorie packs. The food itself may not be low calorie, but the quantity certainly keeps me from feeling completely full and satisfied.

I never bought into the "100 calorie" packs in the US. I figured it was the same as branding Betty Crocker cake mix as cupcake mix... as if they were any different. For dieting purposes, sure, 100 calorie packs are seemingly great, if you can keep yourself from eating more than one. Today, I had about 4 or 5 packs of M&M's. Sure, there were only about 10 M&M's in each pack, but the guilt that rode me all the way home as I scarfed my last pack that had been melting in my suit pocket all day will certainly stay with me tomorrow.

Dig Deep: An unending series of non sequiturs

In addition to usual posts, I have a slew of illogical thoughts pop into my head daily. Dig Deep will be an outlet for such ideas. Enjoy them as much as you can. And enjoy this random photo of me. Japanese picture pose!

Train Gang

Train culture is a fine-tuned, well-oiled mechanism for travel around Japan. It is hands down the most efficient method of transportation within cities and cross country. 
Like any sort of schedule, Japanese adhere to train routes and times to the T. There are hardly delays of major concern and there are train lines that can take you to most areas, even rural towns and outskirts of major cities. Buses of the same caliber and dedication pick up where the trains left off. JR (Japan Railway) is the largest train company in Japan and extends to every region and area of the country.

I could venture to say some Japanese are fanatical about train culture. There are various types of contests every year to see who can make it from one cross-country destination to the next first. Since trains are such a popular way of commute, many non-fanatical Japanese have their train schedules and other alternative train schedules memorized.
I also see quite a few people in train stations taking photos. This, I come to find, is no coincidence. There is a country-wide contest for best train photos every year. Perhaps they have a category for gaijin entries and the above and below could qualify :)
The trains that I have ridden are pristine. There is no trash, already-been-chewed gum stuck to the paneling, graffitied transit ads, or drunkards spouting or splurting. My only qualm about the train system is that there is no room for a bike! If there is a secondary means of transportation in Japan, it is the bike. And for as many bikes as there are passengers, I can understand the reasoning. But, oh what a perfect world this would be if bikes and trains could live harmoniously as one. 

Green is the word

I am thoroughly impressed with Japan's lush menagerie of green. Every city I visit, there seems to be a buffet of well-manicured lawns, gardens and parks that adorn the cityscape. 
Akashi is home to a massively green park that is diverse in landscape.

Arashiyama is a beautiful area on the outskirts of Kyoto proper that is engulfed by dense emerald hills accompanied by thick overlays of swollen lilypads covering the marshes in between. 



Lawns belonging to private homes, temples and shrines are polished and shaped with delicacy, leaving no mangy branches or disagreeable weeds unclipped. It is a sign of pride for one's home or private place of worship. Just as it is customary to take off your shoes before entering into even your own home, Japanese homes boast just as much care on the outside as from within. 

Kobe lines the concrete walkways that stretch through downtown with a plethora of vegetation to brighten any average day. Vibrant flower clusters and open courtyards encircled by trees and shrubbery make for an excellent lunch spot during the grueling Japanese work day. 
Certain delights such as this giant, floral clock (with actual working hands!) enrich bustling Japanese cities that otherwise would seem like a steady stream of overworked employees sifting through a barrage of traffic on their late-night commute home.  
It may seem trite, but these flourishing green patches are a comfort to many and a true dedication to those who have the daunting task of upkeep. 

Oriented within the Orient

In what was once a closed-port country, Japan has certainly served as a nest for foreign residents to make as-close-to culturally authentic homes. 

Kobe, a bustling port-city home to thousands of foreign residents, hosts Nankin-machi (Chinatown), a Chinese haven for those of the likeness and akin to the Orient.   
Once a residential area for Chinese merchants who settled in Kobe after Japan's ports opened to foreigners, it was solely  living quarters for Chinese inhabitants. Now, with over 10,000 Chinese settled in the greater Kobe area, Chinatown has become an eventful tourist attraction in one of the more commercial areas of town. 
Comparatively, San Francisco Chinatown seemed as much as a fulcrum for tourist activity as Kobe's. However, my sense about Nankin-machi seemed all that more "authentic." Perhaps the proximity to country itself spoke out in its cramped and disorienting alleyway streets. Or the seemingly fresh foods that swept steam into the faces of passerby's. Either way, there is certainly activity of the most dynamic kind. 

There is a stressful energy in Chinatowns. It makes me wonder if Chinese life is really like that. With such an overwhelming population, Chinese can easily inhabit areas and call them their own without adapting to the surrounding culture. Perhaps that's what makes them so unique. Or perhaps that's why from Chinatown to Chinatown, either the US or Japan, Chinatowns are non-uniquely Chinese?
I enjoyed my first taste of nikuman (japanese)-- bao zi (chinese). And when I say "enjoyed," I thoroughly devoured several and still have the hint of those sweet and savory pork-filled doughy delights swirling in my belly.
The streets were engulfed with outdoor food stands and restaurants...too many too choose from and with depressingly high prices for a sit-down meal. 
Brilliant colors prevail in signage, design and decor. Red is the color I most associate with China (for obvious reasons), but I have read that this is a contemporarily adored color and was once not considered as culturally poignant as it is today. 
Does Chinese culture venerate those wuvable wittle cute things as much as Japan? I think so.
Especially when they come in panda.