The perfect hairdo

One…two…three…three…th—no wait, four…yes, four…the front of my hair has strands that come in at least four different lengths. It’s Friday morning and I had just stepped out of the shower to examine the status of my new haircut. Since arriving in Japan eight months ago, I’ve received 3 hair cuts and one extremely thorough facial shave. Like other “everyday activities” here in Nihon, a haircut is a valuable opportunity to gain further insight into the Japanese world. As I stood looking in the mirror at the spiky collective of my hair, I reflected on my previous experiences in the barber shops of Oita-ken.

My first haircut: I delayed it as long as I could in hopes that my Japanese teacher would surprise us with a beauty salon scenario and a list of crucial vocabulary words. Getting a haircut in a new place is scary anywhere, but getting you hair cut by someone who doesn’t speak your language or know your culture is even scarier! Plus, if food, driving, and shoe etiquette are all different in Japan, than what kind of cultural differences are there involved in haircuts?!

As the weather slowly faded to cooler temperatures, I watched my hair grow and begin turning and curling in strange ways. I would obsessively twirl little bits in the back and think, “Wow, my hair hasn’t ever been this long before. I really should get it cut…I’m starting too look waaay too frat-boyish.” Each morning I combed the mass of thick brown down hoping the inevitable mushroom shape wouldn’t show up that day, but by each mid-morning my hair was a puffy mess and I finally admitted that I had to get it cut.

Finding a barber shop/stylist wasn’t a problem because Japan is filled with them. Even out in the sticks where I live there are about 3 or 4 within walking distance and they’re all marked with the familiar, striped barber shop pole. On the recommendation of fellow Ajimu ALT, Chris, I went to an establishment in town armed with photos of my head from home. The man working there was a nice guy who wore a yellow, Hawaiian print shirt and didn’t really seem to mind that I couldn’t tell him what I wanted in Japanese. I showed him the pictures (regretfully sighing when he pointed out I didn’t have a shot of the BACK of my head) and he began cutting away.

Once the do was finished (a style I found acceptable), the man in the yellow shirt asked, “Shave, okay?” I tensed a little and responded with an unconvincing “okay” while he tilted back my chair and applied hot towels to my face. I was a little nervous, but more curious of what was going to happen. After I had soaked in the towels for a bit, the man returned to apply shaving cream all over my face…seriously ALL OVER: my chin, cheeks, forehead and nose. The man in the yellow shirt then took out a large murder weapon/straight razor and began to skillfully shave off my beard and any other hair on my face that wasn’t my eyebrows. The process took about fifteen minutes as he targeted an area, removed all hair, reapplied hot towels, reapplied shaving cream, and then started again. The end result: a face completely devoid of unwanted hair and a wonderful relax feeling that one can only get from being treated with such caring attention. Haircut #1, a success.

Haircuts 2 and 3: The following times my hair approached lengths of unmanageability, I went to see a young Japanese girl who cuts a lot of foreigners’ hair. Her ability to speak some English combined with a genki demeanor has sealed her hold on the gaijin haircutting market. She has cut the hair of most ALTs in the area and I like her a lot. The styles she gives me are definitely a little Japanesey in that the end result is a hair style ready to be spiked in lots of different directions with a careless, but also intentional, hand. When I looked through her style book and was confronted by dozens of young Japanese men with dramatic, pointy, somewhat feminine hair styles, I said, “I don’t think any of these are quite right for me” and she assured me I could get “something a little old style, maybe”.

The hairdos on young people in Japan can be amazing...and easy to make yourself. Simply take a clump of hair anywhere on your head and jaggedly cut it off. Next take another clump from a different part of your head and cut it off AT A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT LENGTH (that’s key!). Repeat this a few times making sure no part of your do is symmetrical (and leaving at least a little to come down over an eye is good too). Once satisfied, take some strong styling wax, goop up your locks, and point them in at least three different directions/angels. Now all you need is a shirt with some bad English printed on the front and you’re ready for a night out on the town.

I’m pleased with my hair and also with the fact that there is such freedom in hairstyles here in Japan. Up, down, left, right, into my skull, in all directions at once—anything is cool! So since it’s Friday, I need to get my wind-tunnel-tested gel and throw some attitude in my hair. See ya’ll on the flip side.

The curious incident of the missing cookies

I stumbled through my kitchen in the weak morning light asking the same questions we all ask in the early morning: “What time is it? Where am I? Who forgot to put away the milk last night?” My sleepy eyes scanned the bookcase I use for a pantry and upon noticing an irregularity in the items present, I asked another question: “Where are my cookies?” A bag of individually wrapped cookies that had been there the morning before where now missing and their absence sent my mind into a quick montage of all the reasons why the snacks might be gone. “Did I eat them all? Did I move them? Did I take them to school?” No, no, no, where the answers. There was only one explanation for the missing cookies—theft!

Who would steal cookies from a lone foreigner living in the inaka? Little girls, that’s who!

For months now, I’ve returned home to my apartment building to find things outside moved around. My bike would be in a slightly different place, a rubber ball would be in the basket, wooden boards and rocks would be scattered in new patterns…and since I don’t have any neighbors, these changes would have to be done by some other force. For a long time I didn’t have a clue what was going on until one day I returned home a little early and discovered two little girls singing behind my building.

The first thing out of their mouths when they saw me was “kowaiiiiii!”, meaning scary, and it was obvious that I had surprised them (I was quite surprised too). I smiled and asked them what they were doing to which they responded with a blur of Japanese. I then used my expert Japanese to ask them their ages and hobbies while they asked me how tall I was. We chatted for a while and they insisted I tell them which of the four apartments in my building was mine—a piece of information I decided to keep secret. They demonstrated their skill at “head, shoulders, knees, and toes” and then departed with a confident good bye. I actually enjoyed talking to the two little girls because even though they are young, they didn’t show any shyness and had a lot of energy to throw at me (they also threw some rocks at me).

Now back to the missing cookies! So just this past week I returned home to find the little girls singing behind my apartment and riding around on Storm Crow, my old bike. They were happy to see me and once again threw a bunch of questions at me (but no rocks this time). I was in a hurry that day, so there wasn’t time to chat for long before I had to head inside. They saw me go into my apartment and then proceeded to start a game of “ring the doorbell 1,000 times and giggle each time” before finally leaving (I told them I was busy and couldn’t play). I set to work about my various chores upstairs and didn’t think much of the girls until the following morning when the cookies were missing.

As I stood in the kitchen looking at the empty space where the bag of cookies had once been, I thought, “How did they get in?” and then noticed that the sliding glass door behind the pantry was not locked. I slid opened the door and my eyes widened at the site of multiple cookie wrappers scattered in the grass outside.

Of course this doesn’t pin the cookie crime on the little girls, but they are my prime suspects at this point. I’m not really that upset—more shocked than anything. I think it’s kind of funny too and it’s sure to be a wonderful childhood memory for the girls later in life (stealing cookies from the local gaijin!). I’ll be double checking all my locks from now on and I’ve toyed with the idea of putting my oni mask downstairs to frighten away any other cookie thefts.

More Pictures of Okinawa

For those of you who enjoy images, here are a few more from Okinawa.



The crew. Guess our nationalities!



Me and a lion guardian. Trust me, I know what I'm doing.


Our hotel, the Grand Mer. Several people screamed on our trek there.


Isabel and the Okinawa sea...two beauties of the earth.


My taco lunch. First Mexican food since in 8 months.

Operation Okinawa

The mission: to escape the lingering winter in Oita-ken by heading south to enjoy a fabulous weekend on the island of Okinawa.
The team: three Brits, one Aussie, one French-Canadian, a Nihonjin, and me, the American.
The equipment: flip-flops, sun screen, camera, and plasma grenades (okay, no plasma grenades…I’ve been playing a lot of Halo 2 recently).

Friday, 20:30. Our team of Special Ops ALTs touchdown in Naha airport and proceed to the rental car depot led by our Japanese lieutenant, Chie. Thanks to her months of planning and ability to speak both English and Japanese, Chie gets us through the crucial steps of obtaining two vehicles and making our way to the hotel. The trip through downtown Naha guided by the onboard navigational computer is a little stressful and serves an omen for the weekend’s driving conditions. Eventually, after a few u-turns and screams, we arrive at the four-star Hotel Grand Mer and set up base camp.

Friday, 23:00. The team needs provisions and heads out to find dinner after being turned away at the hotel bar. Fate smiles on us and we find a small Japanese place that serves chanpuru—one of the specialties of Okinawa. After an oishii (delicious) dinner of kara’age (fried chicken), sashimi (raw fish), and chanpuru (delightful mix of meat and vegetables all stir fried together), we return to the hotel for LOAQ (lights out and quiet).

Saturday, 08:30. The day starts with a warm sunrise and a wonderful American breakfast buffet. I eat three plate-fulls and smile every time I think back about the meal. First stop for the day, Shuri Castle, one of the most famous sites in Okinawa with the power of the dragon surging through its stone walls.



11:30. The team splits into two units and make plans to rendezvous later at the beach. I head out with Steph and Ben to find the Okinawa Peace Park located somewhere on the southern coast. With the help of the onboard navigational computer, we steer our vehicle south and along the way spot many US military personnel and facilities. There are also many stores and restaurants with phrases like “All American” and “American style” advertised on the outside. I feel a little disoriented, but strangely comforted by the American presence.

13:00. Okinawa Peace Park located and explored. Steph gives a bit of trash to an old Japanese lady in an incident now called “The Gomi-yage Exchange” (the deal is that shortly after Ben bought a book from this shop keeper, Steph presents her with a bit of paper that had come off his water bottle. Steph just wanted the paper thrown away, but the polite manner in which he gives the shop keeper the trash makes it look like he was giving her a little gift. The result was a look of confusion on the shop keepers face and Ben and I making fun of Steph for hours afterwards. “Gomi” is word for trash and “o-miyage” is the word for souvenir, thus “gomi-yage” is play on words for a combination of the two. Way to go, Steph!).



14:30. Lunch at A&W Diner—an “all American” establishment. The availability of root beer floats is the most remarkable thing about this fast food restaurant.

16:00. Arrival at sunset beach and rendezvous with the second unit. Our team of seven enjoys the setting sun and carefully monitors the activities of surrounding US military personnel. I experience a bit of disorientation at hearing the markedly American accents.

19:00. Dinner at one of the fabled Okinawa restaurants that serves steak. Our team enjoys one of the most delicious and satisfying dinners of the year—tender steak with baked potatoes. I lose myself in the experience.

22:00. The team returns to base camp and prepares to head out for a night on the town. We signal civilian transports—taxis—and proceed to a street lined with bars and clubs. I meet an enchanting Japanese girl from Fukuoka and execute my advanced dance moves on her. If I wasn’t so dedicated to the Corp I would consider settling down with her.

Sunday, 02:30 (maybe). What remains of the team (five of us) finds its way to an Irish Pub owned by a rather outspoken gentleman who jumps at the opportunity to tell us how much he hates America. His missing teeth are mementos from US marines who didn’t appreciate his comments on Bush. Steph and I feel unsafe and decide to return to base camp. We gather Chie and are forced to leave two men behind (Chris and Tash wanted to stay out a little longer).

06:00. Steph and I finally get to bed.

09:14. Chris and Tash return from their night and wake everyone up with laughter. The team quickly breaks camp and heads out for one last look at the beach before our departure from the island.

14:00. Our aircraft lifts off from Naha airport and heads back to Kyushu with all seven team members feeling a little tired from the adventurous weekend.



Monday, 10:00. After taking a plane, a few trains, and an automobile ride, all seven team members are back at their posts in the prefecture. My mind is full of images of the previous days and I find myself smiling every time I remember tropical Okinawa.