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!