The Shaddix Family Rocks Kyoto

As I ran down the length of the Kansai International Airport arrival gate I had one thought going through my mind: hug mom and dad. They stood outside the customs exit waiting for their son to welcome them to Japan and a second later I was throwing off my bag and embracing them…and experiencing my first moment of speechlessness. My parents had come to Japan!

But unfortunately their luggage had not. This was only a minor bump in the road that would be rectified within about 24 hours (and thank goodness too!).

Our first stop was the train station to head off to the cultural capital of Kyoto. I kept watching them and wondering, when are they going to freak out? They look so calm and normal…

I don’t have time to write about all our adventures at the moment, but below are some pictures to enjoy. Mom and dad have been doing great and have conquered both the sqatty potty and raw fish.


Mom and dad’s first meal and first challenge: eating ramen with chopsticks! Since they hadn’t slept in about 24 hours I think their performance was pretty good.


Me outside Kiyomizudera. Rain accompanied us there.


Zen gardens at Ginkakuji. Truly moving designs set off by the gently falling rain.


Mom and dad in downtown Kyoto…some people were getting a little grumpy about finding dinner, but we managed to enjoy ourselves in the crowds.


Dragon drool for people to wash their hands in.


Priest on a bridge in Kyoto praying for those who pass by.

Golden Week in Korea

First, two definitions: Golden Week = a week in Japan with multiple public holidays that people often use to travel and escape their inaka towns.
Korea = an Asian country located between China and Japan that offers delicious, spicy foods and endless nightlife.

I awoke early Monday morning to a strange stillness aboard the ferry that Betsy and I had been traveling on for the previous 12 hours. Since departing Japan, my time aboard had been marked by endless swaying on the ship and I had slept in a broken series of dreams depicting dancing Buddhas. “We’ve stopped!” were the first words out of my mouth as I jumped up and saw the Korean port town of Busan outside the window.

A few hours later, after disembarking and traveling by train northward, Betsy and I found ourselves in the exciting capital city of Seoul. People were everywhere in touchy couples, chatty groups, and single individuals strutting down the street. Lights and food vendors lined the streets and dance music played from store fronts. Recognizable restaurants like Pizza Hut, Subway, Burger King, and Krispy Kreme stood side by side with delicious Korean BBQ and kimchi places and all for prices cheaper than Japan!

My week in and around Seoul was great and full of fun. Here are some pictures and captions to relay my adventure in part.


Betsy overwhelmed by the nightlife near our hostel in Hyehwa.


The Korean National Museum packed with three massive floors of history and culture…and about a ba-zillion school kids running around and screaming.


Korean BBQ: blindingly delicious and stunningly cheap!


The Seoul masses…Koreans sprinkled with foreigners from all around the western word. I was amazed at how many Koreans in the city spoke English.


Ancient Korean palace still standing after a long history of foreign invaders.


Me enjoying a FREE Krispy Kreme doughnut beneath the “hot now” sign. The slim bodies of Asia are on a course for chubbiness…but at least they’ll enjoy the sweet ride there.

The Ajimu Circuit

Bamboo clinks in the wind as I skirt around a few fallen branches that have fallen into the uneven road in the woods. The trees are finally returning to their comforting green and the newly planted rice fields shine in the warm sun. A few birds call out near the Shinto shrine on the hill and an old lady in her garden shouts “ganbatte” to me as I go running by. I’m following my usual running route around town that takes me up into the hills before I head through the heart of town and then back home.

My shoes crunch on some gravel and I lose my footing near a crosswalk where a passing car honks and all I see is a smile on an unidentified face and a waving hand. An orange carp in a shallow pool is startled by my shadow while two little boys on bikes manage a “herro” followed by gurgley laughter.

A lady in a uniform returns my “konnichiwa” as she sweeps the front entrance to a pachinko parlor where colorful flags are whipping in the wind. A little dog wearing a blue vest barely acknowledges my passing as he sits proudly in his owner’s arms.

I turn a corner and follow the main street past the high school where students in uniforms are scattered in little groups all along the way. Some smile, some laugh, most at least say my name to their friend while watching me run by. For a few moments my pace quickens and I dodge in and out of the students who are leaving and loitering around school.

My legs ache a bit as I begin the final kilometer and I tell myself I cannot stop. An old lady with a cane stares and then smiles when I breathlessly wish her “konnichiwa” and a car coming out of an alley stops suddenly to let me pass. I turn towards my apartment, looking out across the rice fields to the green hills beyond, and push myself to finish.

I pass a building and hear my name called out by someone from an upper window. As always, excited laughter follows the “Jaasuten” and this time, the phrase “nice run” is added too. I pour my remaining energy into my body and go hard for the last stretch.

I run and run and slowly stop, my eyes closed in both agony and joy. The wind blows over me carrying the smell of flowers and I wipe my forehead on my shirt. I turn into my apartment building parking lot and wave to the junior high school students who are practicing soccer in the field next door. I stretch my legs and catch my breath and remember all the runs I went on back home. My body feels good after the exertion and I reflect on what a perfect track Ajimu Town makes.

As I walk back inside, taking my shoes off at the door, I feel a longing for home mixed with a sense of contentment at being here in Japan. I’ve found that there is no place quite like home, but there are places that can become familiar refuges in this world…and those places can be called home for as long as we live in them.

Easy breezy, Japanesey

Here are a random assortment of amusing things I’ve photographed over the last 9 months using my handy cell phone camera. Enjoy.



Do you know where little Yoshi has wandered off to? Be careful, because Domo-kun will eat your children.



A very pretty and realistic-looking mannequin encouraging you to buy clothes.



This is Gloomy Bear, the bear who loves you to death. You can find his cute/bloody toys and accessories in the child’s section of most major department stores (Blake, this photo is just for you).



Sign posted outside a bathroom in Osaka train station listing the various things one can do inside. Not so sure about #4…



Yummy, cookies with a name that I associate with my large intestine…I guess that’s where they’ll end up.



Ketchup with the same attributes as my shampoo.



Toilet paper brands…though I’m not sure if “repeat” and “memory” are two things I want connected with using the bathroom.



Look, real Indian Curry! No more of that “made in Indian” crap…now you can get the authentic Native American kind!

Sakura and the fleeting nature of life

Behold, the essence of springtime cherry blossoms—meat on a stick and moderately priced whiskey presented with a background of sakura.

After a nightmarish winter that took the lives of all three of my house plants and gave me my first experience with frostbite, SPRING has finally arrived! Bits of life are returning despite the enduring chill and new green rice is growing in the previously brown fields. I heard my first thunder of the season earlier this week as the rolling booms chased rain down from the mountains and gave the waking earth a needed drink. But the most amazing and meaningful site of spring are the song-lyric-worthy blossoms of the cherry trees—the lovely and delicate sakura.

These pale pink blossoms are a welcome relief from winter and give the landscape an almost mythical swirl of color. Lying at the heart of Japanese culture, the cherry blossoms express the ephemeral nature of life in that they bloom, amaze, and blow away in a matter of weeks. Japan is a culture that appreciates the moment and savors the specialties of the season before they fade away into the next progression of life.



The typical way to enjoy these fleeting flowers is by having a picnic with friends and family under their branches—a practice referred to as “hanami” or “flower viewing”. The ingenuity of Japanese landscapers has given us local parks lined with cherry trees for just such an occasion and over the past week I’ve been fortunate enough to have several opportunities to experience hanami with my dear JET friends.

When one enters a sakura park, sound seems to soften as if the dense blossoms are absorbing the murmur of voices and clattering of everyday life. One’s eyes sweep the scene and one thinks, “Holy geisha ninjas, these are lovely—I must enjoy them before they all blow away!” Then one takes out one’s camera and proceeds to take photo after photo of the ornamental trees…all the while thinking, life is fleeting…life is fleeting…


At Usuki Castle Park, there were groups of old folks laughing and playing games with a casualness that said, “I’ve been doing this all my life. Please enjoy the sakura, for life is fleeting.” There was also a man with a baby that cried every time one of us foreigners approached as if the baby was saying, “You’re scary because you’re different…but all the same, please enjoy the sakura, for life is fleeting…”



At Usa Shrine, a drunken pair of parents offered Steph and me a beer while their kids looked on in terror. I didn’t understand much of the parents were saying, but amongst the slurred Nihongo I’m sure they were urging, “Please enjoy the sakura, for life is fleeting.”



At a park in Nakatsu, a tall lady outside the public restroom pointed at the cherry trees in the soft evening light and said, “Miteblablablablablablabla!” which I’m sure meant, “Please enjoy the sakura, for life is fleeting.”



So that’s what I’ve been doing…enjoying the sakura…for life is indeed fleeting.

International Gaming

The world sits before me on Steph’s kotatsu covered in little plastic soldiers. My forces have concentrated themselves in Africa and South America while Steph’s, Ben’s, and Isabel’s are scattered throughout the rest of the untamed world. The dice clatter in my hand as I survey the hostile force trying to take my territory of Congo. Clatter, clatter, clatter, CLAT! The dice are cast—my white defending dice come up 6 and 5! My opponent’s red attacking dice settle on 4, 3, and 1. YES, the Congo is safe!

This is a familiar scene from our regular games of RISK (the game of global domination) that have been taking place since my parents sent over the board game a couple months ago as a birthday gift (thanks mom and dad!). While JETs have MANY exciting things to keep them occupied every single moment of every single day, there are times when sitting down to a nice game of RISK or Monopoly is just what the doctor ordered.

But like with most simple things (eating, speaking, dancing), playing board games with people from other parts of the world offers a slightly new dimension to the experience. Our game of Monopoly that took place a while ago involved folks from FIVE different countries—Canada, Japan, England, New Zealand, and America!



As we all sat down to play, there was a moment when everyone realized that in a way, we were representing our respective countries in this competition of financial conquest. We exchange glances, silently sang our national anthems, and dealed out the colorful money. Some people were a little unhappy that the version of Monopoly we were playing was the American version and thus had different place names than they were used to (a fact I didn’t realize until that night). But nonetheless, our game was intense and I did America proud by robbing everyone else of their funds and making a monopoly of our international board.

In more recent times, we’ve been playing a lot of RISK—the game where one tries to conquer the world via armies and the rolling of dice. As you can imagine, playing this board game with an international crowd while living in country that is NOT your homeland is an especially fun experience. The usual crowd of global conquerors consists of two Brits, a French-Canadian, and me, the American. We all enjoy taking our friend’s respective homelands and then mocking them for not defending it better. The number of historical references one can make during the game is astounding—especially when some of the players are from countries that have notoriously raped and pillaged the world. I always get a little antsy when my troops march around the Middle Eastern territories and recently when I moved a large force into Japan, I decided it best to base them all in Okinawa instead of on the mainland.



Living abroad and being friends with people from all over the world is one of my favorite parts of the JET experience. While I sometimes don’t understand what other westerners are saying because their casual vocab is filled with unfamiliar terms and spoken with an accent, I do enjoy learning more about the people of the world. The more I know, the better equip I’ll be to march into their lands, take their territories, and establish myself as Emperor of the World. Yeah America!

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.

Clash of the Titans

As you may or may not know (depending on how good a friend you are), my 24th birthday is fast approaching with the special day being on February 28th. This year, like in years past, I threw a theme-costume party to celebrate. The theme for 2006: “Heroes, Demons, and Deities” or “general mythology.” Perhaps a better term would have been “wild, out of control, booze fest” after experiencing the utter madness that rocked my little inaka town.

I will admit that the punch I made—a mix of fruit juice and vodka I called “ambrosia of the gods”—was rather strong. Thus the 40 or so people surging through the two floors of my apartment were well on their way to feeling divine. My costume and mythological persona for the night was Balder, a Nordic god of justice and wisdom who’s death perpetuates the end of the world (pretty neat, eh?). For all my American-jin buddies, you’ll notice a resemblance between Balder and Green Havoc, but I assure you I’m not recycling costumes—just giving new life to a familiar image.

Here are some pictures from the night:


Me as Balder, a Nordic god, with Pauline and Lisa, two twin Asian-American-Greek goddesses.



Mike as Poseidon and Tomiko as Miyou



Karl as...uh, some guy with really sweet wings.



Ben as Bacchus--could there be a worse combination?



Asei as a little angle. Yes, that is a child at my party.



Kiyoko as a unicorn, Rhoda as the goddess of alcohol, and Tamara as Temptation (bubble wrap was an amazing idea).



Me and Ata, an island goddess who can also be called a "mother goddess" because she's the one who kept it real and made sure my place wasn't destroyed in the immortal revelry.

All in all the night was great and I loved having folks over to Ajimu.