Christmas Journey, there and back again (part three)

“The next half hour may be really easy or it may be a horrible nightmare,” were the words Steph used to describe our search for a hotel. Osaka looked awesome outside the train station with long, bright arcades filled with crowds walking the streets. Osaka has been described as having a “Blade Runner”-like setting with its neon and gritty urban feel. Young people with spiky hair and tall boots strutted by with an air of cool toughness that makes two white guys wearing backpacks and frantically searching a “Lonely Planet” guide book feel a bit vulnerable. Steph and I were two big targets and if Japan wasn’t such a bizarrely safe place, we may have found ourselves in a bit of danger.

At one point we found ourselves in the lobby of the Swiss Hotel…a large, upscale place with a piano lounge and lots of foreigners in gray sweaters. We knew the hotel was out of our price range, but desperation leads men to walk down all sorts of avenues in an attempt to find a solution. The Japanese attendants behind the hotel desk were very polite and smiled when showing us the ridiculous room prices. Steph and I smiled at one another (though it was a different kind of smile) and walked back out into the crowded neon streets.

Up one street, down another, back again…nothing. Try the phone…call this place, that place, another place…all too expensive. Feel desperate. Give the “Lonely Planet”, that double-edged guide book, one more try. Youth Hostel! On the other side of town…back to the trains.

Finally, after about an hour of walking, talking, calling, and eating (had to stop and get some snacks) we found our way to a youth hostel housed on the third floor of the Osaka football/soccer stadium (weird). The establishment was newish and comfortable...and the seven phone calls to the proprietor to get broken directions there made for jokes later.

The next morning was a time of farewells and a parting of ways. Steph planned to continue his journeys eastward while I wanted to see more of Osaka before heading back home. I was going to navigate Osaka—the big gruff city of Japan—alone. Perfect.






First stop, Osaka Castle…a place I had been reading about since I arrived in July. Getting there by myself on the trains was empowering and some snow fell in a celebratory fashion when I reached the base of the castle. An old Canadian lady took my picture.



Next stop, the famed Osaka Aquarium…on the other side of town. My reason for going was not just because I love aquariums, but because on this day, December 26th, my sister’s birthday, my family over in Atlanta, GA was heading to the new Atlanta Aquarium and for the first time in my life I wasn’t going to be celebrating with them. Going to the Osaka Aquarium was a way for me to be with my family in the sense that we would both be doing the same kind of special thing on this special day. I walked through the plastic-walled compound staring at blue tanks filled with fins and gills and thought about my family. Everyone around me was a trendy Japanese couple with high collared coats covering bright striped shirts. They giggled and gasped at the creatures and often took pictures of one another in front of the tanks. I enjoyed the aquarium well enough, but really just ached to be with my family…even in spite of the fact that about the last 15 Julie birthdays have been monumental days of stress and chaos (day after Christmas, Julie shares her birthday with my grandma, holiday stress reaches an all time high....).






A little later I found myself walking along the water front area watching the sun set westward in the direction of home. I told the sun to say hi to my home for me when it rose there a few hours later. I had survived Christmas in Japan and had an impressive itinerary to show for it. Kyoto, Koyasan, and Osaka all in three days…I never went hungry, I always had a place to stay, and I had seen some of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen in my life. Life felt good.

Christmas Journey, there and back again (part two)

The city turned into urban sprawl that slowly dwindled to little towns that eventually drifted to singular buildings and then only trees, mountains, and snow could be seen out the train window. Christmas Eve and Steph and I were making our way to Mt. Koya where we would spend the night at a Buddhist temple. The falling snow outside and the excitement of seeing Kyoto had pulled me out of the lingering shadow of homesickness that had been following me earlier. Our train went as far as the base of the mountain and then we transferred to a cable car in order to reach the top of Koyasan. The view up the tracks:



Snow fell and fell and everything was thick and white. I’d never seen so much snow—especially not on Christmas Eve! Behold the scene:





Steph and I checked into the Daienin Temple and were served a vegetarian-friendly dinner and provided with a warmish room for the night. The monks were shy, but friendly and watched us with bright eyes that shone out from circular glasses below shaved heads. In the spirit of Japan, Steph and I donned the traditional yukata after having a communal bath with the monks (typical Japanese style). Our Christmas Eve ended early since the following morning we were required to get up before 6AM for morning prayers.




Christmas morning came in the dark quiet of the early morning and we headed to the main hall where several monks performed the morning prayers with sweet incense burning. The hall was covered in color and gold with images of Buddha looking out through small cabinet doors. I had never been in such a room before.

The sun rose, the prayers ended, Steph and I ate monk breakfast…tofu and rice among the dishes with no doughnuts or breakfast casserole to mark the day as Christmas like I was use to back home.

For most of the rest of the day, Steph and I explored the surrounding areas where numerous wooden temples stood layered in snow. The highlight of the Koyasan sites was the extensive cemetery that goes along through an old forest where one can become disconnected from time due to the peaceful surroundings. Hundreds or maybe thousands of snow-capped stone haka—graves—fill the cemetery. As the morning light streaked down through the trees, snow melted and fell from the burdened braches in dustings that resembled mini flurries.






Koyasan was made even more special by the arrival of Betsy and Timur—a Christmas miracle! While Betsy and I have planned several meetings before, this chance encounter on Christmas came completely from the miracle bag of Fate.



Evening came, Betsy and Timur returned to their temple, and Steph and I headed down the mountain to ride the train back to Osaka. The only problem was that he and I had no where to stay once we arrived in the bustling metropolis. Osaka, the commercial hub of Japan, would soon greet us with neon lights, quick moving crowds, and several NO VACANCIES…

Christmas Journey, there and back again (part one)

All of my journeys here in Japan start the same way: open front door, walk out. And all of my journeys here in Japan end the same way: unlock front door, collapse inside. My three day Christmas journey was no different, however, what occurred in between those two points was remarkably different.

To begin with, it’s Christmas and my head has been spinning with memories of the past 22 Christmases spent in Atlanta with my family. Christmas has been the one absolute holiday that I’ve always known where I would be and what I would be doing. In years past I would just get in the car and head to Atlanta and then spend the next several days eating and talking and eating and celebrating (and then eating dessert) with family. But now, I’m in Japan and I have to make my own Christmas instead of just going along with my family. I asked God to give me a good holiday since I was afraid to be away from the people, places, smells and tastes that usually accompany me during this season. God delivered in a three part blessing.

First, a twelve-hour, overnight ferry ride from Beppu to Osaka. Traveling companion: Stephron Baker Holmes, second year JET from London. We boarded the passenger liner at 7PM and were due to dock at Osaka the next morning at 6:20AM. The ferry is a must have cultural experience here in Japan since it crowds together all sorts of people for a long passage across the inland sea. Steph and I had booked the economy, third class accommodations that provided us with a narrow sleeping mat on the floor, a blanket and “pillow”, and a cubby hole for our things. The sleeping room has narrow spaces for 40 individuals lined up in four lines of ten. Upon first looking into the room, one might think the room was meant for slave transport in the eighteenth century, but then one sees the lovely elderly couples eating gohan in chatty groups of four while little babies babble Japanese babbles and teenagers listen to rock on tiny headphones. The communal, unpretentious environment allows one to see that sleeping 2cm from strangers really isn’t bad at all.

Steph and I “slept” through the night and were awoken in the “morning” (5am) to an older gentleman coughing and spitting phlegm. Stretch, yawn, let’s disembark! We left the ship and headed for the train they would take us to Kyoto. YES, KYOTO…my Japanese Mecca! While our true Christmas destination was Koyasan, we had time to explore the nearby legendary cultural capital (we did dock at 6:20AM).


Kyoto Station, the massive complex from the future, greeted us with festive decorations and crowds of people traveling about in the falling snow.


Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion, one of the highlights of Kyoto if not all of Japan, sits shining in the white layers of winter. I squealed and ran around taking lots of photos and kept whispering to myself, “I can’t believe I’m here on Christmas Eve.”



The day stretched on into afternoon and Steph and I had more traveling to do before the evening came. We went back to the station and caught a train to Koyasan, the Esoteric Buddhist Monastery where we would spend a most pleasant Christmas.

Icy Realization

As my car spun around in an out of control whirl along that mountain road, the moments seemed to pass slowly and I felt like I had time to think about a great many things. For one thing, I was wondering which part of my car would eventually hit the guard rail to stop the spinning and when it hit, how much damage it would do. Then I thought about how much it would cost to repair the damage and how I would be able to communicate with the auto mechanic in my limited Japanese. Then I thought about Christmas and how instead of being at home with my family I’m driving around dark mountain roads in rural Japan. Finally I thought about the last five months in blur of emotion that is as close as I’ve ever come to seeing my life flash before my eyes.

One, two, three times my car spun…the guard rail getting ever closer. I thought I might be slowing down and with each spin I waited for the impact. BAM! I hit. Where? The back…left side. My head hurt—I had hit it against the window. My heart was beating fast; I was breathing hard…when did my heart start racing? I was okay…move, slowly, get away from the icy. Slowly…don’t mess up again.

I drove down the road a little ways to where the icy mess met the dry pavement like a perverse sea frozen on the beach. My mind started retracing the incident. I was driving home from Stephron’s house at night and foolishly decided to take the mountain road because it was quicker. While the night before had brought snow to the area, the daytime sun had melted and dried most of the roads…I hoped it would be safe. I drove fast wanting to get home…I spend so much time driving here! Up the road I went…up and up…no ice…it’s okay. And then suddenly, as if the ice were rushing towards me as I rush up the mountain, I hit the dangerous white and black mess. Slow down…easy…easy. Slipping, oh no, I’m slipping, easy…oh no, I’m spinning. A terrible screeching noise sounded from my tires…it sounded more like a wraith screaming than rubber sliding and time slowed down while I just waited to hit.

Now I’m at home, safe, and my car isn’t mangled too much. The back left taillight is broken and there’s a dint just above it, but no other damage beyond that. The accident was minor when it could have been so much worse. As I sit here writing, I look back on those moments of chaos and believe that as my car spun, the loving hand of God was on me and protecting me. All those prayers from my family and friends serve to remind me of God’s presence with me here in Japan.

My journey has been long, but there is much left to do and learn. I realized as I spun on that mountain road that I’ve not been myself here in Japan. Every since I left home and left behind all the familiar people and places, I’ve felt a little paralyzed and unable to be the Justin Shaddix I use to know. I’ve been trying to tell myself, “it’s all okay…it’s all okay” whenever life’s been rough because I’ve been afraid of admitting that it’s not okay. There’s a difference between facing and coping with a difficult situation and facing and lying to yourself that’s the situation is okay. Honestly, I don’t know what’s going on in my head right now, but I know I’ve got to be honest in order to find happiness here. My trip northwards to the Esoteric Buddhist Monastery for Christmas may prove to be an insightful journey.

So now I must go and see what Fate has for me...and through it all, believe in the love of God, and the love of my friends and family.

Merry Christmas everyone.

Christmas Bear’s Frightening Ride

I brought Christmas Bear to school after receiving him in the mail the day before in a package from mom and dad (thanks mom and dad!). After spending a week or so in a dark box, Christmas Bear needed some love and attention to help soothe the emotional trauma of being shipped in the mail (he wasn’t eating and would only respond to my questions with one word answers). I also figured the students at school would like to meet him since they love anything cute that wears little hats. I was glad he had brought his hat and scarf since temperatures inside buildings are about the same as the temperatures outside.

Christmas Bear had a special place on my desk atop a pile of memos and flyers that have been accumulating for about the last 5 months (I don’t usually fully grasp the meanings of said memos and flyers, but I keep them in case I ever need to reference them) so he served the dual function of tomodachi and paper weight.




Well, Christmas is almost here and there was snow in Ajimu off and on all last week. There were times of heavy flurries, but not much stuck to the roads so school was always in session (Japanese schools are not are ready to cancel class due to snow fall as NC schools). There is definitely a Christmas presence here in Japan as one can see in the lights decorating some stores and buildings, but the anticipation is nothing like back home. I have a little tree at my apartment and plan to have a Christmas adventure at the end of this week. Check back later for the story!

Friday night snacks

Nine Japanese high school girls swarmed around me shrieking my name and giggling little giggles that bit at my ears. They clamored for my attention, but freaked out and turned away with a gasp when I looked to acknowledge one of them. No, I wasn’t walking down the red carpet; I was just at school helping some first year students practice an English song. An English love song. For half an hour I stood opposite a semicircle of hyper girls listening to verses about eternal love and encouraging the girls to stand still and not play with their/each other’s hair.

Upon leaving school, I was drained…all of my energy carried away by the students. But it was Friday night and I had a bonenkai to get to. QUICK CULTURE LESSON: a “bonenkai” is an end of the year dinner party where colleagues get together and celebrate the previous year before welcoming the next one. On this Friday night, I was going to the bonenkai for the local ALTs (assistant language teachers) where I would also meet up with two of my Japanese friends. The plan was dinner at Kura and then drinks/karaoke at the legendary “R” bar, but it was the events between the two stages that merits this blog entry.

As our group of gaijin, with the two Nihonjin in tow, moved from the restaurant to the bar, I found myself suddenly whisked away down the street to another establishment by my Japanese friends. Apparently on this very same night some of their friends were also having a bonenkai. My friend, as he took my arm and led me towards the neon lights of “downtown” Usa, said “let’s sneak away…just for five minutes to see the other people.”

Five minutes turned into forty minutes and ended up costing me 4,000 yen (about $40).

As we walked away from my familiar, English speaking friends and towards the group of Japanese-3 of them standing like giants in the group on account of them being former sumo wrestlers—I felt a mix of fear and excitement. When they all saw me coming, they shouted my name “Jasten! Geeeeaaasuten!” and gave me handshakes. The smell of alcohol swirled around their dark suits and soon I was part of their throng headed towards a nearby snack bar called “Watashi wa piano” (I am piano).

ANOTHER QUICK CULTURE LESSON: a “snack bar” is an omnipresent kind of drinking establishment where Japanese men go to be served expensive drinks by pretty girls. There are snacks at these places, but they cost a HUGE amount of money and the uninitiated can leave with the burden of a hefty bill. Perhaps you could call me the uninitiated. Or maybe this was just one of those cultural experiences that as a foreigner you just can’t escape and have to roll with the situation. I tried to roll and found myself drinking expensive whiskey and singing the “Beatles” with one of the largest Japanese men I’ve ever encountered (sumo champion in his high school days).

Time moved at a strange pace…random men kept shifting positions so they could sit next to me and try out their English skills (some very impressive) all while a young waitress smiled and giggled at me.

Eventually, my friend with his expertise in “sneaking away” pulled me away from the crowded room and back out onto the cold street. We then headed to “R” bar to rendezvous with the other gaijin.

I feel that the night was a success because I’m writing about it now. While I don’t think I’ll be heading back to a snack bar anytime soon, it was good to go once…especially with Japanese people.

The friend you just can't have

This entry has been removed because the story deeply hurt my Japanese co-workers. I am very sorry for writing this story and was wrong to write it. I have learned my lesson and will not write about my job, students, or co-workers in a negative fashion again.

Stick figure Pilgrims and how I got fat

I stepped back from the chalkboard and was a little surprised at what I saw. A group of sloppy stick figures wearing either huge hats or gaudy feathers on their heads were standing near an amoeba-like map of the U.S. with the date "1620" scrawled close by and the word "Thanksgiving" stretching endlessly above. It was seventh period and I was teaching about Thanksgiving. Back at my desk in the staffroom, all of my bags were packed and ready and waiting for me to bolt out of school as soon as class was over. It was Thanksgiving Day back home in America and I was ready to go and celebrate with some other gaijin.

My destination that day was the inaka town of Bizen up on Honshu in Okayama-ken--the place my dear friend Betsy Herzog calls home. As soon as 4:30 struck, I dashed from school to the train station and took the shinkansen (bullet train) up to see her.

While I was unsure how the Thanksgiving celebration would go since I'm living in Japan, I knew spending time with Betsy and her JET friends would be cool. A group of us foreigners had rented out an "International Villa" (a fabulous house with a large kitchen complete with ovens) for the holiday and all met in the coastal town of Ushimado (which by the way means "cow-window"). Below are views from the villa's surrounding area--a very nice place up on a hill near the sea (in the first picture you can see the villa...curved building on the left).






With the combined efforts of twelve JETs originating from four western courtiers, we managed to put together a Thanksgiving feast worthy of any family gathering back home. Behold!





I didn't even include the dessert table because I don't think Blogger could handle it. After this meal I could happily proclaim the simple phrase that I utter so rarely here in Japan, "I'm full!" Over the last few months, I've been slowly losing weight and appearing more and more wraith-like since my diet here in Japan doesn't consist of all the processed fats found in American cuisine. While looking more like a super model is great for summer months, the cold winter of Japan is better survived by having some organic insulation (fat) to keep one's body heat close to vital organs. So on this celebratory day, I ate and ate and ate and then ate some more. Perfect.

As I sit here now writing this post, I still feel full. In part because I had chocolate cake and pumpkin pie for breakfast and then ate cookies and doughnuts on the train ride home. But hey, this weekend was my holiday. I can eat healthy tomorrow at school when I order a bento full of fish and rice.

Autumn Images of Oita

The big city and Japanese friends

Rain fell in stubborn spurts that couldn’t quite develop into a steady shower, but refused to entirely stop either. The puddles outside “Iwanaga”, the Italian restaurant in downtown Fukuoka where we were dining, were filled with the neon lights from the surrounding stores and eateries. I sat across from my Japanese friend, eating one of the most glorious meals I’d had since arriving in Japan. The two of us had driven across the northern lands of Kyushu from lovely Oita-ken to the big city of Fukuoka—the supreme metropolis of Kyushu.

I first met my Japanese friend during those initial chaotic weeks in Ajimu when Japan was overwhelming and I didn’t know what on earth I was doing here. He wears the most stylish clothes of any Japanese person I’ve encountered and he takes annual trips to Italy to vacation and shop (for clothes and food). Every Tuesday we go to lunch together at a different restaurant in the area and he always encourages me to try out all the different foods in Japan.

My Japanese friend is one of the key people here in Japan who redeems all the moments of frustration, confusion, and loneliness that swirl around me at times. He always makes an effort to talk to me and assist me in any way he can and our relationship has developed to a nice friendship. He shares stories with me about his past when his parents had him declared dead after he disappeared from home for seven years to go to Tokyo for university. He sometimes tells me, “I’m Japanese, but I’m not Japanese” to convey that while he was born in Japan and lives in Japanese society, his perspective on how to live life often deviates from the norm (making him a suitable Japanese liaison for a foreigner like me).

My Japanese friend is a unique individual in a land were individuality is often times lost in a mantra of conformity. Our trip to Fukuoka is a perfect example of how cool he is because he was willing to drive me all the way there on expensive toll roads and then drive all over the city showing me around (perfect host and guide) He also treated me to a nice Italian dinner as a way to give me something familiar from home (and indulge his own tastes for western food).

Since our Fukuoka trip, I’ve hung with him some more and actually seen him naked.

Okay mom and Jessica Barbour, don’t freak out. Today the two of us went with a group of Japanese people to climb some mountains called “Twin Peaks” in northern Oita. The hike was more strenuous than I thought it would be, but fortunately the guide handed out bags of candy to sustain us during the trek.






After the morning/afternoon of climbing (with a beef stew lunch served at the top courtesy of Ishida) we all headed to a nearby onsen to relax our tired muscles.

An onsen (“hot spring” in English) is a common Japanese luxury where people go to enjoy the rejuvenating powers of hot water. Basically you go, pay around 300 yen, strip naked, shower off, and soak in really hot water. Of course this made me a bit nervous at first because I’m not accustomed to being naked in large groups (except for IV retreats…Order of the Dark Triangle forever!). But with cold mountain air and sore legs driving my forward, I gladly followed the customs of the onsen.

There was a brilliant moment when four of us were sitting together in a pool and I was doing my best to be interested in my hands or the ceiling so as not to focus too much on one person when my friend politely said, “I think foreigners can sometimes be uncomfortable bathing together in public. Is this true?” And before I could answer I noticed two old Japanese men from across the pool gawking at me (just like at the grocery store) and I turned to my friend and simply said “It’s a little different in American…but I love onsen.”

Rock on Japan!

Betsy and Chris come to visit

I almost died twice the other day. Once was in Hell with Chris Clearfield as we squatted beside two Oni who were guarding a cold pool of water and the other time was on the Oita Expressway along a stretch of road that looked like Hell because of dense fog and strangely colored lights lining the road. But I’m getting ahead of myself…let me start at the beginning.

Betsy Herzog, my dear friend who graduated from UNC and now lives as a first year JET in Okayama-ken, came down from concrete Honshu to rustic Kyushu with her friend Chris Clearfield who is traveling the world between degrees. Chris plans to go from Melbourne, Australia to Berlin, Germany in 300 days with Japan, Korea, China, and all those other countries between Asia and Europe as stops along the way. Japan is his second country and hosting him gave me a new perspective on my life here in Japan. Most of the time, I think of myself as an epic figure on a journey with all the people I meet and experiences I have as parts of my unfolding story. Having Chris intersect my story with his own journey changed this perspective, however, to be one where Chris is the epic traveler and I am the experience. From his point of view, I am a “stop” along his long excursion and thus I am part of Japan, part of his experience here. To relate this to classics, I felt that while I interacted with Chris, I changed from being Odysseus to being one of the characters Odysseus meets along his way home (but not Calypso or Polyphemus cause they have issues).

Anyway, as any good side character in an epic would do, I did my best to make Chris’ and Betsy’s time here memorable. Highlights included Ajimu’s famous “Hell and Heaven” site where visitors can journey through caves filled with ancient statues (Hell) and eventually make it up a lofty hill to a serene Buddha (Heaven). This is where Death first waved at us. While photographing a part of Hell, Chris and I were almost killed by the dreaded mukade—poisonous demon-wyrms that thirst for human blood! (truthfully, a mukade is a large poisonous centipede found in the inaka and being scared of them is okay). At first there was only one mukade slithering by on the low ceiling, but then I turned my head and saw four others clustered together about 2 inches from my face. I screamed, Chris screamed, and we both ran out of Hell (the best way to exit the underworld I think).





After recovering from the mukade attack, I took Betsy and Chris to the Ajimu waterfall where any weary or traumatized soul can find relief and rejuvenation. The waterfall lies off the main road a bit and up some hills and through a forest. Along the way, Betsy commented on how the mountainous scenery resembled parts of western North Carolina and together we both sighed a sigh of longing remembrance for our home. Once we reached the actual taki (waterfall) our hearts were lifted by the site of the cascading water and the splendor that is rural Japan.



Later that day, we all traveled down to fabled Usuki, a town on the other side of Oita-ken that was hosting a bamboo festival. The festival took place at night and involved hundreds—or maybe thousands!—of bamboo holders bearing the warm light of candles (like Japanese jack-o-lanterns!). The streets were lined with the bamboo candles and like all good Japanese festivals there was plenty of takoyaki and crepes to eat. The time escaped us amongst the pleasant atmosphere and eventually we head back to Ajimu via the expressway.




But the adventure had not yet come to an end.

On the way home, Betsy, Chris and I ran into Death again and this time he reached out and tried to snag my little car by its little cute bumper. Somewhere along the expressway, as the concrete and asphalt runs through the mountains and forests, we were met by thick, dense, life-taking fog. It was the thickest fog I have ever driven through but thankfully Japanese engineers had installed brightly colored lights along the side of the road to help illuminate the treacherous path. Unfortunately these lights made the nighttime fog look like a scene from “Hell’s Fun House” and threatened to drive us all back in fear. I pressed onward, however, and made it home safely (so calm down, mom) and upon entering the front door I promptly poured us all a glass of whiskey (just for our nerves).

All in all, Chris and Betsy’s visit made for a splendid time and I hope that when Chris writes his novel about his global travels that he will include a mentioning of me and the wonders of Oita-ken, Japan.

Jehovah’s Witnesses

I first met them one Saturday morning as I was stepping out of the shower. The doorbell rang and I dashed to answer it wearing only a pair of shorts and having a damp towel draped over my shoulder. I thought the visitor might be the mailman or a friend since I rarely have callers at my door so I wasn’t really concerned about putting on a shirt at the time. But, when I opened my front door, there were two Japanese ladies standing there with Japanese editions of “The Watchtower” in their hands and looks of shock on their faces.

“Ohayo gozimasu” I managed to say while feeling rather silly without a shirt. They answered in turn and then proceeded to try and figure out who I was, what language I spoke, and what I thought about God. In my beginning level Japanese I managed to give them my basic biography and they told me their names were Miki and Aya and they were Jehovah’s Witnesses (Gasp! How had they found me all the way in the Japanese inaka?!). Then they told me to read my Bible everyday. Miki and Aya left shortly thereafter because they weren’t yet prepared to deal with a gaijin, but, that was not the last time I would see the Jehovah Witnesses.

The next week I saw Miki again at the Ajimu Joyfull Family Restaurant. She was my server and almost had a heart attack when she walked up to my table to take my order. I think this was when Miki felt that God had put me in her life to convert. I could tell as I paid my bill they she had crusade burning behind her eyes.

Twice since this meeting, Miki has come by when I’m not at home to drop off friendly postcards written in broken English and decorated with precise drawings of Biblical scenes. Her messages are nice with bits of scripture and encouraging remarks like, “You feel lonely? Maybe we here for you!” and “Remember me? I am Jehovah’s Witness. Your friends alone in America, have friends now in Ajimu.” At any rate, it’s nice to get some mail.

The other day, the JWs stepped up their tactics when they stopped by with a guy who lives close by in Ajimu (they were hopping to get me to commit to having Bible study with him). They had prepared a pretty good English presentation of the Jehovah’s Witness theology complete with all the thought provoking questions about the end of the world. I didn’t know how to handle them exactly, so I just listened and told them I love God and I’m busy on Sundays so I can’t come to their church. My rejection of their offer didn’t seem to weaken their resolve at all, however.

Since that day, they have come by again and this time I didn’t answer the door. They seem committed to reaching out to me and while this is sort of nice, I wish their invitation for community didn’t involve me needed to convert. I’ve heard stories from other JETs who get “adopted” by Japanese locals, but their tales involve free meals and drinking buddies, not salvation from the fiery end of the world and endless spiritual literature. Geeze.

Halloween in Japan

For all my Chapel Hill peeps, you know that Halloween is one of the most important events for me. Over the past several years, I have spent a great deal of time and energy on my costume creations for the Franklin Street Halloween Adventure and the entire month of October is usually a time of Hallow’s Eve bliss with my anticipation building and building for the magical 31st. Being here in Japan is a bit different from home, and so I was a little concerned about what I would do, and who I would be, for Halloween.



Sometimes it’s best to go with a classic and this year I became my old superhero persona, Green Havoc, the Bulwark of Justice. Since I brought none of my original regalia with me to Japan, I had to create a new costume and thus in the tradition of all great comic book heroes, I took on a familiar, but new, appearance. Fans of GH will recognize the classic crown of knives—a real crowd pleaser—and tall green socks that I wore in days of old (but this time, the knives are real).

My celebration of Halloween took place on Saturday night in the city of Nakatsu after a day of intense deliberation of where to spend the holiday. I joined friends from around the area and despite Halloween having a very minor presence here in Japan, I ended up having a great evening. First stop, purikuri or “print club” at the mall (this is a very Japanese activity to do that involves getting together with your friends and having tiny, fun pictures made that make you look glamorous). A group of us foreigners all donned our costumes and set out to utterly freak out the local Japanese. As if we don’t get enough stares normally, having the added elements of masks, capes, and cat ears made sure every Japanese eye around was staring right at us and asking, “What in Amaterasu’s name?”.

After our mini glamour shots to remind of us of who are real friends are, we headed to dinner. At this point, I was thinking, “Holy cow! Even back home I never went out to dinner in costume!” (except that one time at UNC’s dining hall when I was protesting the Pirate Club). Of course as we entered the establishment we were greeted with whispers and stares and popping around the room was the word “Halloween!” So the Japanese did know about the holiday…and here we were to help internationalize them a little more.

Dinner being done, we set out to our party at Tropi Coco’s, the gaijin bar owned by a Mexican guy named Raoule who speaks Spanish, English, and Japanese and has children by two different Japanese women (his kids help serve food and drinks when the crowd is heavy). Here in this foreigner gathering place, I found a Halloween Mecca of costume enthusiasts all celebrating the holiday. Gaijin and Japanese alike were dressed as all manner of characters and creatures and rocking out to a band with a singer dressed as a Starfleet Captain. I was in heaven.

As if this wasn’t enough, Raoule organized a Halloween parade through the red light district of Nakatsu. All of the costumed people marched through the streets absolutely freaking out/terrorizing the locals and making sure the Japanese still fear us because we’re different. It was awesome (but may have set back the whole integrating into Japanese society thing a little bit). The night ended somewhere around 3:30 AM and I felt that my Halloween had been a fulfilling success.

Now as October gives way to November, and the weather continues its fall into chills and cold, I feel that my Halloween hungry has been sated. My night out in Nakatsu combined with the 2 weeks of Halloween lessons I gave at school (I never want to draw another pumpkin again!) has brought me much comfort. Green Havoc lives on here in Japan and I vow to continue in the traditions set down by the Ehaus Knights and the League of Crusading Champions that inspired me so long ago.

By the way mom, I made sure to check all my candy for shuriken before I ate any.

The Continuing Adventures of Japanese life

Japan cannot be judged by single moments or incidents, but it can be redeemed by them.

Drum and Flute

I followed the sounds of a chirping flute and a booming drum and discovered that the Ajimu shrine—usually a quiet and empty place—was alive with the movements and colors of a local festival. I had noticed the hanging lanterns the night before leading up from the torii as I looked out over the now harvested rice fields. The colors of my town have changed from summer green to autumn gold and the once lush fields are now muddy, prickly places with little tents of drying rice. With the time of the harvest come little local festivals celebrating traditions that span far back in Japanese history. As a young foreigner, these events provide a perfect place to connect more with my community and get a few strange stares from people.

As a walked up the stone stairs to the shrine, I recalled memories of that place from back in August when I first came there looking for “real Japanese cultural” to photograph. Back then, the weather was fiercely hot and the shrine was bear and silent. This time, however, autumn wind blew chills over me and there were dozens of banners and lanterns hanging all along the stairs. Cars were parked along the road below and music floated down from the hill above.

Once inside, I ran into some young people who first saw me from across the way and shortly after were suddenly behind me (totally freaked me out at first). I spoke a little Japanese to them before another guy arrived to offer me takoyaki (fried octopus…yummy).

After that, the performers on stage who had been dancing out a story of a battle between a hero and some oni (demons) threw some mochi at the crowd and sent everyone running and collecting (mochi are rice balls and can really hurt if they hit you in the face). I got a pocket full and was cornered by a very old man who wanted to touch my hand. He kept shaking it and holding it and saying something very meaningful-sounding, but alas I didn’t understand and we both politely bowed and smiled.

Feeling satisfied, I headed back down the stairs and across the fields that lay between my apartment and the shrine. Ajimu is small and quiet, but I love living here. I’ve never experience the small town lifestyle and at first I thought being placed here was a cruel mistake. But now, I feel good about coming home and the remoteness of my new home is something I choose to appreciate.